


The Line of Durin

by Judayre



Series: Line of Durin [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Kíli is Dwalin's baby, Multi, also Bifur's, because that would be weird, but not together - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:36:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 37,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judayre/pseuds/Judayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kíli joins the quest for Erebor without knowing that he's of the line of Durin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Scenes of a Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> So there was this fic, see.... Probably for a prompt that Kíli didn't grow up with Fíli. I apparently have strong ideas about that prompt, because this wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. I actually have absolutely no idea where this is going (although there are a few signposts for spots that need to be written), so yeah. This should be interesting. Hopefully not just to me.

Bifur was the one the lad called Da. Of all the things that struck people about the little family, this was often considered the strangest. When it was mentioned, Bofur would laugh it off. He worked. Bombur worked. Someone had to tend the lad, and Bifur was less employable than his cousins.

He could have told them that Bifur had been a father once, before the raid. But that was no one's business. Especially not the drunks who questioned them. He trusted Bifur with the lad, through sickness and fire if it came down to it.

Not many mentioned the situation. The settlement in the north end of the Blue Mountains housed less than two hundred Dwarves at the best of times, and most of them were drifters. Some came to escape notice until word of their deeds died down and they were able to go home. They weren't usually ones for questions. Some had run away and were just waiting for word that they were wanted. They rarely asked questions either.

The ones who asked, as if they had a right, were the ones who were looking for work. They came and went, mostly. They would work for a season in the mine or try their hand at farming, and then they would leave with the money they had made. Some of them stayed, though. That was how Bofur's family came to live there not long after taking in the lad.

Bombur was in charge of the kitchen in the public house. Truth be told, he practically ran the place since Narvi spent all his time drinking. Bofur had risen to be a foreman in the mine. They mostly went after coal, but every now and then they would find something more worthwhile. Together, they made enough so that Bifur was able to stay home in their tiny cabin and be a father again.

Kíli was a good lad. They had found him, just days old, abandoned in a settlement to the south. And who would leave an infant alone? There were few enough children without letting one die for fear of the commitment. So they had taken him and moved north to find a home.

His hands flew with iglishmêk before he could speak, and to Bofur and Bombur's dismay his first words were broken Khuzdul. For a few months after that, Bombur brought the child to work with him. Khuzdul, after all, was a sacred language and not meant to suffer children's mangling.

But still, he was a good lad, their Kíli. High spirited and easily into mischief, but just as likely to be helping someone as he was to be swiping the pies from the public house kitchen. He had bright eyes, hair that they could never keep in any kind of order, and an irrepressible spirit that kept them busy of an evening chasing him down out of the rafters.

He loved music and stories from Bofur, and before he was ten he had his own little pipe. He loved the food Bombur made, and would dash about the kitchen or the settlement for him. And he worshipped Bifur, his Da who taught him how to make things.

He was the only child in the settlement, and Bofur sometimes worried that he was too old for his age because of it.

"Uncle," he whispered one night. Bifur had exhausted himself with a memory of the raid that had killed his wife and son, and Bombur had been in bed for days with the flu, so Bofur and Kíli were the only ones awake. The boy curled quietly in his lap, but Bofur could tell he wasn't really listening to the story being told.

Kíli looked up, eyes bright with tears. "Should we sell my clasp? Would we be able to get help for Da with that money?" He reached a small hand to the back of his head, ready to pull the silver clasp out immediately.

Bofur stopped him, taking the hands in his own. "That is the only thing you have to help you find your family and line when you grow up," he said. "We couldn't take it away from you, lad."

Kíli shook his head violently. "You're my family. You and Da and Uncle Bombur. I don't need any other. If it can help, we should sell it."

Bofur pulled the boy close. "Your Da will be better in the morning. He always is, laddie. And Bombur is on the mend. He'll be back in the kitchens before you know it. We'll rub along fine until then. Keep your shiny." He stroked the dark hair. "Did I ever tell you about the dancing plague of Rohan?" he asked, wanting to turn the boy's thoughts toward things a child should be rightly thinking of.

He was sure other ten year old Dwarf children didn't knock on doors to sell firewood or offer to shovel paths through winter. But the wide grin on the boy's face when he passed his pennies to Bifur made up for what Bofur couldn't remember having himself. And with no other children to play with, what else was he going to do?

In the years that followed, Kíli learned to use a bow and snares for hunting. As with his wood chopping, he first brought the meat home, then sold extra to the runaways and seasonal mine workers. And when Bifur started teaching him tanning, he took to it immediately.

He protested that the leather working tools that Bofur brought back from a trip south were too expensive, but Bofur just shrugged and played a merry jig while the lad worked with them. And he learned to use them. He learned anything he could, their lad.

Although at twenty five, he was hardly a lad. His hair was still wild, his skin was bronzed from the sun. He was strong from woodcutting, and he insisted on walking around barefoot half the year so he would make less noise when hunting. In worn homespun, the silver clasp in his hair drew comments that he easily turned aside with a joke. But he still wanted stories and songs, and he still went to sleep easiest when draped against his Da's side.

He worked hard at his leather and furs, trying his best to earn the tools Bofur had bought him. When he was forty, Bifur took a load of goods and drove south with them, coming home two weeks later with nothing left.

"The heir of Durin?" Bombur asked. "Was that wise?"

Bifur muttered an answer in Khuzdul and Kíli's eyes shone.

"He praised them, Da? The heir of Durin praised my furs?"

"And paid a fair price for them," Bofur pointed out. He watched Kíli eagerly question Bifur about the trip and shared a frown with Bombur. It was only a matter of time before he got it in his head to travel, and what would they do then?

Bofur and Bombur made the trips south for the next several years. Bifur's health took a bad turn, and Kíli would not leave his Da. He was the one who took care of the cabin in that time, his chance to hunt and cut wood drastically reduced by the need to tend the one who had raised him.

"It's silver," he pointed out, holding the hair clasp out to Bombur. "People pay a lot for well worked silver. If we sell it, we should have money for someone to come up here for Da."

It was hard to deny the plea in his eye, but Bombur folded the lad's hand over the clasp. "Your furs and the bone and antler beads you've been making bring in enough for that. Keep the bauble. You may be glad of it one day."

True to his word, Bombur brought an old healer back with him the next trip. Kíli saw his own beads in Óin's hair and knew how he'd been bought. The healer gave him one sharp look and turned to Bifur. By the time he left a week later, Bifur was up and about. Kíli pampered him for months until he was told to find something more constructive to do.

Knife throwing and fighting were not what Bifur had in mind, but that was what distracted Kíli enough to get him outside again.

It was very easy to tell that Nori was wanted somewhere. He didn't leave the empty cabin he was squatting in for several days. Whatever venture had him running north hadn't been a successful one, either, because when Kíli knocked on the door asking if he wanted firewood or venison he had no money to pay with. They easily made the deal - knife lessons in exchange for fuel and food.

"It seems I'm not the only thief hiding up here," Nori said casually.

"It's rightfully his!" Bofur answered angrily.

Nori's smirk made him pale. "No wonder you're hiding up here. You'd never be able to face up to real questioning."

"If you say anything to him," Bofur said, voice dark and hands tightening into fists.

Nori barked with laughter. "Nothing in it for me to say anything to anyone. You can't hide a thing, but secrets are my business."

All three of the older dwarves were happy when he was gone.

It was just past Kíli's seventy seventh birthday when the call came. It led to the biggest row the youth had ever had with the three who had raised him.

"I will go, Da," he insisted.

"Why?" Bombur asked insistently. "For gold and glory?" He spat, showing what he thought of those reasons.

"It's for the line of Durin to take care of," Bofur said soothingly, ignoring the sharp looks from his brother and cousin.

"I might be of Durin's line," Kíli pointed out. "We don't know. And I don't care about the gold." It was said nobly, but the skeptical looks he got from Bifur made him hang his head. "Not much. Enough gold so we wouldn't have to count pennies and starve for your healers, Da. And just think! A foundling on such a quest! It's practically a story on its own!"

In the end, Bofur rode south to make the offer. He was gone more than a week and looked older when he returned.

"Best we start packing."

"We?" Kíli asked.

"You think we'd let you run off on your own?" Bombur demanded while Bifur roughly petted the youth's dark hair.

Kíli's exultant grin was enough to make them regret less what was sure to come.


	2. And So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a somewhat familiar party.

"Where's that silver?"

Kíli's hand flew to the leather strap holding his hair before he turned to see who was addressing him. It was a strange feeling; since leaving home the only people he knew were his Da and uncles, and someone speaking to him put him on his guard. The known face made him grin.

"Nori," he greeted. He stepped forward to clasp hands, but Bifur pulled him back. "Da thought it would attract too much notice."

"So you left it behind?" Nori asked, brows raising.

Kíli grinned and shook his head. "Do you really think I'd tell you anything about something of mine?"

Nori snorted laughter back at him. "Question my honor in front of my own brothers?"

It was only when one of them grunted that Kíli noticed the other two Dwarves with Nori. He eased back into Bifur's touch, feeling shy of new acquaintances in a place he was unfamiliar. Bifur patted his arm and gave him a light shove, not liking the youth's bashfulness any more than his naive affections.

"Kíli, at your service," he said, giving a bow. "These with me are Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, my Da and uncles."

The older of the brothers looked impressed at his manners, while the younger smiled at him in a friendly way. "Ori, at yours and your family's," he answered with a bob of his head.

"Can't be much older than you, lad," Nori put in. "Our Ori will be ninety in another month." He turned to the older Dwarves as the two youths smiled new friendship at one another. "What are you doing this far south?"

"Kíli insisted on joining Thorin's mad quest," Bombur answered. "We couldn't let him go alone." He eyed Nori suspiciously, but only got a nod in return.

"Ori too. Boy insists on being allowed to write the tale."

Ori made a face at his brother and tugged Kíli's arm. The pair started walking again, leading their elders toward the smial Gandalf had sent directions for. Their heads bent together, ginger and dark, and their laughter wafted back to their families, who were quietly determining their own relationships as they followed.

They all gave the Halfling respectful bows before elbowing their way into his home. Kíli had never been in one as large and well appointed, and turned a circle in awe, breathing his amazement to their host. It helped to calm the Halfling for a moment, a look of pride on his face, before something from the next room caught his eye and he leapt off, shouting denouncements again.

Kíli dropped his pack next to the door and followed, watching his uncles and new friends greet those already arrived like old friends. 

"Is that really Dwalin, son of Fundin?" he asked, looking at the bald Dwarf with admiration. He only had a moment to notice that Dwalin was looking at him in return before there was a growl and a shudder from next to him and he had to turn. "Da?" he asked in worry, knowing the signs of a downturn.

Bifur gave a sharp shake of his head and passed a hand over his eyes. Without looking up, he waved away Kíli's concerns.

"That's your father?" a mocking voice behind him laughed.

Kíli spun on his heel, eyes narrowed and twisted with anger. "What's it to you if he is?" he snarled.

The blond Dwarf behind him was young. He looked startled to be addressed angrily, but as he stared a creeping sort of doubtful recognition entered his eyes. He raised his hands to pacify the angry Kíli. "Nothing," he admitted. "Nothing. Forgive me."

"Best forgive him, lad," Bofur said softly, hand on one tense arm to force it to relax. "You'll not want to start out in the bad graces of Thorin's nephew."

That made Kíli pause, eyes slowly widening in horror. He began to stutter his own apologies, and the blond's eyes crinkled into laughter again. Shoulders tensing, Kíli ran.

He ended up in the kitchen, where Bombur was happily humming over the range. He smelled the familiar scent of frying and boiling, the warm aroma of tea calming him. Bombur looked over his shoulder.

"Kíli, lad, find me the garlic. The lads seem to have grabbed me everything except garlic and this roast needs it."

Kíli nodded and moved through the door to what turned out to be the first of several pantries. He stared in awe at the shelves of bottles and cans, hearing snatches of conversation from the main part of the house as he passed the hall doors. When he finally returned with garlic, their Halfling host was haranguing Bombur, who didn't seem to be paying him a whit of attention.

"Good lad," Bombur said, deftly slicing the garlic with a panache that shut the Halfling's mouth with a click. "Cooking is my job, Master Baggins," he added. "I'll not hurt your pots."

"Why don't you go out and enjoy the party?" Kíli suggested, wrapping an arm around Bilbo's shoulder. "We don't need three in here, and I'm used to being Uncle's assistant."

"Don't you want to enjoy it yourself?" Bombur asked, eying him sideways as he stirred a thick mushroom soup.

"I nearly got in a fight with the young prince," Kíli answered, leaning against the counter. "It's probably best that I stay in here."

Bombur snorted. "You just grab someone and get the table set. I'm fine in here and you should meet the people we'll be traveling with for the next months." He lifted the ladle and poured a taste of the soup into a saucer. "But first figure out which of these is the salt."

Ori was more than happy to help Kíli with place settings, and the two of them sat down on either side of Bifur, watching as the others shouted greetings and news to each other. Kíli leaned across his Da to peer at the notebook that Ori was scribbling in, expressing wonder at how easily the other youth wrote. Ori's cheeks reddened with pleased embarrassment and he promised to teach the skill to Kíli on the road.

It was more than an hour before Bombur roared for order and browbeat five of the company into loading down the tables. It was suddenly quiet enough to hear Bilbo arguing with Gandalf as the group dug in. Their ears pricked up as they slurped down the mushroom soup, devoured the scones and jam, gorged on the roast and potatoes, and drowned everything in gravy. Bifur made sure that Kíli and Ori more often had their mugs filled with juice and tea than ale, but the rest of the group grew silly with drink as the meal wore on, the volume rising again.

Bofur pulled out his pipe as they cleaned, and danced them a jig in and out of the kitchen. The meal had brought them all close enough that they could toss the dishes from one to the next, making Bilbo look like he was going to have a fit. When they had finished, they all stood around to proudly present their burglar with a demonstration of their own abilities.

It was not much longer until Thorin arrived. Kíli stared with awe, drinking in the sight of the uncrowned king. When the pale eyes stopped on him in a survey of the room, he shivered with delight. After a moment, Bifur jostled his arm for attention. When he looked over, his Da's hands moved in iglishmêk.

_You shouldn't look at him like that. He's a Dwarf, just like you._

Kíli shook his head and signed back. _Just like me? He's Durin's heir!_

_And much good it does him,_ Bifur answered, gestures strong. _It didn't save them from the dragon or the Orcs. The only ones who answered his call are old warriors, thieves, and untried children._

_But people came, Da,_ Kíli answered, turning his attention back to the explanation being given to Bilbo.

Kíli recognized Bofur's description of dragons as his last ditch attempt to get Kíli to give up on the quest. But that didn't excuse him for describing it so well that the burglar passed out. He said as much when the family found a corner to bed down in that night.

"Burglar," Bombur snorted. "Nori is a burglar. That Halfling is just a soft handed gentleman. Don't count on him being with us when we leave tomorrow."

Kíli leaned against Bifur's side and felt a rough hand brush his hair back from his face. He curled his fingers around his Da's wrist in a silent good night, and let himself fall into sleep, hearing the low hum of Thorin's singing from deeper in the home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Iglishmêk is in italics. Because there needs to be some kind of differentiation.
> 
> Also, mocking someone's parent is a very bad way to make a first impression, Fíli.


	3. Writing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I which the company is mostly made of individuals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this would have been posted much earlier, but I spent a lot of today swearing at the author. Silently, because I work in a high school.
> 
> So, he creates a whole language and writing system, but he doesn't think to name the letters! How am I supposed to be a complete nerd and create an alphabet song for Kíli if the letters don't have names? How is Ori supposed to teach him that C-A-T spells "cat" if THE LETTERS DON'T HAVE NAMES?
> 
> Professor Tolkien, you are KILLING me.
> 
> At any rate, using the Cirth from the appendices because I like how they look better. Rune names are shamelessly stolen off macromannic runes, going by pronunciation more than shape, because what were you thinking, Professor Tolkien, when you made the sound /b/ look like an R?
> 
> ...And that's enough nerd rambling from me. Have a story.

Bilbo Baggins raced down the lane just in time to join them before they left and Kíli grinned triumph at Bombur. As purses of gold changed hands among the company, Bombur sighed and dug into his pack. He produced a pair of shortbread cookies and placed them carefully in Kíli's hands. The youth gave a laughing salute and rode forward to join Ori.

He held out one of the cookies, earning shy thanks, before stuffing the other one in his mouth. This drew a laugh as Ori ate with more delicate manners now that they weren't in the middle of a raucous party. Dori's keen eye might have had something to do with it as well, as Ori glanced over and then swallowed and hastily praised the quality.

Kíli laughed. "Everything Uncle Bombur makes is good," he said, leaning forward against his pony's neck. "You were going to teach me writing?" he added eagerly.

"Now?"

"Best to start when we have the time and not the troubles, right?"

Ori nodded cautious agreement and pulled out one of his notebooks. He managed to get all of the cirth written, although the rocking of the pony made it difficult. He was very annoyed at the shakiness of the lines and gave up halfway through telling Kíli about them.

They rode in glum silence for a while, both disappointed. Then Kíli nudged Ori and pointed to a tree.

"Khen. Says k. Like Kíli." He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

Ori laughed out loud, causing the rest of the company to look back at the pair of them. "Your name is all uprights," he protested. "It's too easy. Find me a birith and I'll be impressed."

"Birith," Kíli repeated, biting his lip in concentration. "Says b. Like Bifur. Or Bofur, or Bombur." His smile blossomed as he named his family, and his eyes darted to Ori in appreciation of the connection.

"Or Balin or Baggins," Fíli added, reining in with them. "And if you look that way, Master Ori," he added, pointing, "That broken fence post looks like othil."

Ori looked shyly pleased and Kíli struggled to remember the rune.

"It's the first of my name," Ori explained and Kíli stared at the post to learn the upward point of the letter.

The three youths rode together through the easy jog of the morning, finding cirth all around them. Kíli was by far the worst of them, although he was the one who first found a shape that looked like birith. He flashed a look of victory at Fíli and Ori shook his head at the competitiveness of the two younger Dwarves.

Late morning, just before Bilbo began grumbling about something called "elevenses," Fíli pointed out a tree that he swore said "Kíli" in it's branches. Kíli stared up into it as the ride past, memorizing the lines of the cirth that made up his name. Once past, he stared ahead a moment, fixing the shapes in his mind.

When he looked back down, there was a look of such affection in the eyes of both of his companions that his face flamed red. Before he knew what he was doing, his pony was next to Bifur's. The older Dwarf quirked a brow at him and his hand moved in a single sign.

_I'm not hiding!_ Kíli answered, face still flushed.

_When you don't know what to do you always run to me,_ Bifur told him before laying a hand gently on his knee. Something shadowed entered his eyes and his hands moved with abrupt, almost cut off motions as he added, _Not for much longer._

Kíli spent the afternoon pretending to be listening to the others sing and gossip while he watched Bifur out of the corner of his eye. Coupled with the shaking of the previous evening, he feared that his Da's mind was walking on a darkening road that would cause him to harm himself. 

His eyes cut to Óin several times. The deaf old Dwarf was nodding over the neck of his pony. But he knew that Óin was a good healer - had seen it with his own eyes last time Bifur had taken a bad turn. Now it seemed even luckier that they had joined the quest. He couldn't think that the group's healer would charge for his services.

Even if he did, there was a bag of preshaped beads in Kíli's pack that just needed to be carved to be finished. He'd brought his tools, because they were the most expensive things he owned and he couldn't leave them behind. And there was always the silver clasp.

He tuned into the conversation in time to hear the end of the argument over whether they should stay at an inn for the night. Dori and Balin seemed to be in favor of it, since they were still in civilized lands. Dwalin was disinclined to trust anyone, though. Thorin finally cut through the bickering to say that they had best get used to sleeping on the ground while it was still moderately comfortable.

There was muttered agreement and they spent most of an hour with an eye out for an appropriate spot. Fíli was finally the one who pointed out the copse near a stream that they decided to spend the night in. Their approach spooked a young deer who had been resting there, and Kíli had shot him down before he got more than three bounds.

"Did you see that?" Dwalin exclaimed, pride in his voice. "Amazing shot!"

Kíli beamed until he heard the growl from Bifur. When he turned, Bofur was already there, a sturdy hand on one shaking shoulder. He couldn't hear the words Bifur said, although the tone was dark and angry, but even with a soft voice he heard Bofur's reply.

"It was honest praise and fairly earned. You have to calm down about it. What happens will happen."

It had been his fault, Kíli realized, eyes widening with despair. He flung himself from his pony, throwing himself into the butchering, which he could do despite the tears in his eyes. The skin came off easily, and he had no trouble sawing through the new antlers, wrapped in velvet as they were. He set those aside to offer Óin, knowing that some healers put great stock in velvet antlers, and turned to the task of gutting and splitting the meat.

By then he had mastered his unshed tears and the others had joined him. Fíli joined him in butchering, and two pairs of hands worked easily in tandem. They knocked shoulders a few times, and once Kíli got over the newness of the feeling it was a comforting one.

He had automatically started cleaning the inside of the skin before Ori asked what he was doing. He paused, recalling the quest and the fact that he wouldn't have time to tan it.

"There must be a tanner around somewhere. I should be able to get a decent price for it, especially since it was just one shot."

"We're on a quest for home and riches and you sit here worrying about getting a few coins from common workers?" Thorin demanded, rounding on him angrily.

Kíli sat back, shocked and unable to respond.

"As did you when you were a wanderer living hand to mouth," Bofur pointed out, coming around to Kíli's side and putting a comforting arm across his shoulders. "Not the lad's fault we taught him to count pennies."

Kíli looked between them a few times before Thorin grunted a concession and turned away. He finished his task in silence and folded the skin neatly with the velvet antlers. Bombur had started roasting their dinner and breaking the rest of it down to travel with and had drawn everyone in with promises of taste testing. There would be no chance to approach Óin until later, so Kíli brought his prizes over to where Bifur had unloaded their packs and settled back against his Da's solid form.

Bifur petted him and seemed more willing to let him lean than he had in years. That on top of everything else made Kíli worry and promise himself that he would talk to Óin as soon as possible. To take his mind off dark thoughts, he pulled out the bag of blank beads and started to carefully finish four of them.

Once they had eaten, he moved to Ori's side, knocking their shoulders together. It was a different feeling than knocking against Fíli, but just as comforting. Ori looked over at him and Kíli opened his hand, turning the bead to catch the firelight.

"Othil, rehit, his. Ori." He kept his eyes down, unsure what reception he expected, because he had never had a friend before.

Ori's hand closed over his. "It's a generous gift," he said, voice shy and warm. He lifted one of the beads to examine. "And the runes are well carved." He passed them to his brothers, and somehow they made their way to all the Dwarves before returning.

The approval in twelve pairs of eyes warmed Kíli back to smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you want to know what their names (or anything else) looks like in Cirth, here is the translator/generator that I found to help me: http://derhobbit-film.de/rune_generator.shtml#rune


	4. Ponies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter is about 2/3 written. And was before I even started on this one. Entered my brain and refused to leave room for ponies.
> 
> At any rate, there is a sad lack of Bifur in this chapter. Next chapter should make up for it.

They were several weeks on the road before Kíli started to worry. The Shire and nearby lands were green, abundant, and hospitable, just the place to get to know new companions and unite as a group. He was pleased to be part of it, mostly riding with Ori and Fíli during the day and listening eagerly to the stories told by Balin and Nori in the evening before he joined his Da and uncles for sleep. But as they continued to travel, his worry grew.

There had been less game the farther they got from Bree. Kíli the hunter saw traces of small animals and took down the occasional brace of rabbits to supplement their supplies. But he would need snares and traps to properly hunt and they were only passing through. He was worried that whatever had hunted out all the big game was still there, but he'd been told that it was a foolish worry and after that he kept his concerns to himself. He rode with his bow on the saddle in front of him and his eyes peeled for movement.

He was the first to see that Holly, the pony that held most of their food and was thus led and not ridden, had spooked. The pony reared, baggage shifting on his back, whinnied, and plunged into the river they were following. The packs of food had started to fall off as soon as Holly reared, and the impact of the water only quickened it.

And they needed that food. Who knew when they would next find a town to supply them? Kíli reined in and was off his pony as fast as possible. He dropped his bow and knives in a pile on the ground, kicked off his boots, and was in the water without a moment's hesitation.

The pony, already panicked at nothing, found himself in water that was almost too deep for him, with banks that were too steep for him to climb easily. His continued distress was starting to effect the rest of the ponies, and Kíli knew he had to work fast. His bare toes found steady purchase on the riverbed and he braced himself against the strong current. Keeping his eyes on the pony, because it would be dangerous not to, he murmured soothing nothings in Khuzdul like he would for Bifur on the dark days and moved slowly forward.

He heard his name and a splash behind him. Holly reared again, front hooves kicking out, and he had to duck for safety. The hurried movement made him lose his balance and he went under the water.

Fíli pulled him up, but was less sure on his feet than Kíli was, and as soon as he'd sputtered out all the water he pushed the blond away.

"I had it under control," he yelled, hating to do it near the pony but needing to in order to be heard.

"That was under control?"

"That was you getting in the way!" Knowing it was childish but not caring anymore, Kíli splashed the water at Fíli. His eyes widened as Fíli stumbled again and fell in. This time he was the one to dive in and pull the other to safety.

"You still have your boots on!" he yelled, clinging to the bank of the river with one arm around Fíli's middle. "You idiot!"

Fíli's eye twitched. "I was worried about you!"

"Don't be!" Kíli answered, pushing Fíli up to shore. "I know what I'm doing!"

At least, he added to himself as he turned back to Holly, he hoped he did. Thorin had taken over berating Fíli as Kíli turned back to the shivering pony. And oh, it wasn't good that he had noticed that. The interlude with Fíli, short as it was, had given enough time for the cold of the water to fully penetrate his clothes and his bare feet.

He approached again with soothing words and chattering teeth, and was able to catch the hanging reins. Moving carefully backwards, he coaxed Holly to come toward the riverbank, knowing that Bifur and Bofur would be ready to help haul the pony out of the water.

Feet half frozen, he misjudged a step and slipped under again. His fingers tightened automatically on the reins, and he reached out with the little breath he had left to cling with both hands.

It couldn't have been more than a moment, but it felt like a year that he hung there, trying unsuccessfully to get his legs back under him. Finally, Bifur was able to finish talking Holly to the edge, pulling him out with help from the others and taking Kíli as soon as he was above water.

Kíli coughed, though thankfully he wasn't coughing up water, and shivered in the warm May evening as Bifur efficiently stripped him and toweled him dry.

"What was that all about?" Thorin demanded.

"I was trying to save the food supplies," Kíli answered, pulling the leather cord out of his sodden hair.

Everyone looked over at Holly and realized that most of the packs had fallen into the river. Bilbo and Bombur gave identical cries of dismay, and even Thorin was distracted from his displeasure with the two youngest.

"We'll camp here. Split up and see if you can find anything edible to rebuild our supplies."

"Rivendell is near here," Gandalf pointed out. "I'm sure Lord Elrond would be happy to refill our foodstuffs."

"I told you before," Thorin said, eyes narrowing as he rounded on the wizard. "No Elves!"

"If you want to starve your people before you have properly started, that is your own business, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf groused, walking away with anger in his stride.

Thorin didn't even watch him go. "You two. Get dressed and mind the ponies."

Fíli and Kíli both nodded and half of the rest of the group faded out to search for food. Kíli dug into his pack for clothes while Bifur muttered and spread his wet things to dry. He pushed wet locks of hair out of his face twice before he unburied the silver clasp. The leather thong had to dry as well, and tying his hair pinched and was uncomfortable. Surely no one would look at his clasp twice now.

He left his boots where they were - his feet wouldn't warm any faster in them and they wouldn't dry as quickly either - but grabbed all three of his knives. He followed Fíli to the meadow the ponies had been left in and immediately went to Holly, brushing down the pony's sides in comfort and leaning his head against the pony's.

"What's that?" Fíli asked.

"What?" Kíli asked in return, lifting his head to see if something was wrong with Holly.

"In your hair."

Perhaps he should have listened to his Da. Kíli clapped a hand over his clasp and turned to face Fíli. "It's a hair clasp and it's mine," he said flatly.

"Let me see it," Fíli ordered, striding forward.

"What? Why?" Kíli asked, pressing back into Holly's comforting bulk.

Fíli was obviously used to being obeyed. "Give it to me!"

"No!"

Kíli fought him, but Fíli had been trained for battle since he was old enough to hold a sword. He had age, weight, and knowledge on his side. He wrestled Kíli to the ground, pinning both hands together, and pulled out the clasp with one deft tug.

"That's mine! Give it back!" Kíli exclaimed, rising back to his feet. His hands tightened into fists as he watched Fíli turn his clasp over and over, looking at it in the post-twilight dimness. "You have no right!"

"Where did you get this?" Fíli demanded.

"I told you it's mine!"

Fíli turned angrily to retort, but stopped before speaking. "We had sixteen ponies, didn't we?"

Kíli hated the distraction, but cast his eye around in a quick count. His hands unfisted and he turned for a better one. "Holly's gone. And Bluebell."

They paced the meadow, but the ponies were nowhere to be seen. Kíli rounded the rest of them closer together, and they peered off into the darkness, trying to see where Holly and Bluebell might have gone.

That was how Bilbo found them when he brought their share of the soup Bombur had made them for dinner. Fíli was the one who insisted that he not tell Thorin what had happened, but Kíli was just as pleased to not have their mistakes brought to the attention of their leader and his Da.

But that was when a Troll came back for more of the ponies.

"I'll try to free the ponies," Kíli whispered. "You two go for backup."

"No," Fíli said instantly. "It's too dangerous. We'll have the burglar go."

They both stared at him, because if it was too dangerous for Kíli it would be even more so for the Halfling. After a moment Bilbo gave a distracted nod, rolled his eyes, and started silently toward the Troll's fire. Fíli disappeared back to their own camp, and Kíli crouched low, watching Bilbo like a hawk.

"You'll never pull it apart," he whispered to himself. "You have to cut it." Why was he going over to the Trolls? Kíli leaned forward and his eyes widened when he saw what Bilbo was trying to steal. He didn't even have a knife? Kíli feared the worst.  
He eased forward, thankful that he was still barefoot and thus quiet, and slipped his own knives free for easy use. How much he wished for his bow, but that was still at camp. When the worst happened and Bilbo was caught, Kíli jumped out, trying to distract them so that Bilbo could get away and the others could come.

His plan worked well on one count, if not both, because before long they were tied into sacks and piled for consumption later. Bofur had been stripped to his skivvies and tied to a roasting pole with several others. Kíli couldn't see where his Da and other uncle were.

The Trolls hadn't checked them at all, and Kíli still had his third knife. But what good would that do? They had been defeated when all the Trolls had to do was threaten their burglar. Now they had several if the company in clear danger, and the Dwarves had lost the element of surprise. He turned the knife around in his hands, trying to think of what to do, when Bilbo hopped to his feet and started talking to the Trolls.

But Kíli couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what he was trying. Skinning? Did he think that would put the Trolls off? And they would likely not do them the favor of killing them first! And parasites? Did he think that because they were wanderers and not rich, settled folk like him that they were dirty? Why had he come in the first place?

He joined several others in shouting denouncements, which seemed to amuse the Trolls. But he felt a thump as if he'd been kicked, and looked up to see Thorin glaring at him. The meaning of Bilbo's ruse came to him and his mouth shut quickly. His eyes darted back to the spit on the fire and he hoped it would be enough.


	5. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bad things happen.

Kíli was not one of the ones who stamped out the flames, as his boots were at their abandoned camp. He fished up his knives and freed his comrades. Bombur barely let Bofur out of sight while they searched the Troll cave and Kíli saw Fíli looking his way several times.

It was a new interest, and while they packed their bags Kíli had a chance to think about it. But in the end, how many explanations could there be? Fíli had jumped into a river out of worry for him, and had said that sneaking up on Trolls was too dangerous. He wasn't a child and he knew Fíli respected his strength, and there was only one other possibility he could think of.

The ponies were gone, so they shouldered their packs and began walking toward the Misty Mountains in the afternoon. There had been no sleep yet, so it was a silent and sullen company that did its best to get away from the stone Trolls. The arrival of the brown wizard was a sharp surprise, but the idea of a rest was welcome. They broke up into family groups and sat in the shade of a tree filled knoll.

Kíli settled between Bombur, who had pulled out a piece of venison jerky to chew on, and Bifur, with Bofur standing close by. He thought he should get advice about Fíli, so he spoke softly.

"Da, I think Fíli likes me."

Bifur snorted as Bofur answered. "Of course he does. Friendly lad like you."

Kíli hesitated. "No, uncle. I think he wants to take me to bed."

Bombur choked around his jerky. "What makes you think that?"

Kíli looked over at where Thorin and Fíli were having a heated, if quiet, discussion. Fíli had gestured to him more than once. On top of everything else, what was he supposed to think?

Before he could answer, there was a long, low howl. Everyone's heads snapped up, all other conversation stopping instantly.

"Are-- are those wolves?" Bilbo asked, looking around nervously. "Are there wolves out here?"

Bofur's face was still as he listened to the next howl. "No. Not wolves...."

"Thorin! Warg scouts!"

Kíli's bow was out as the first Wargs appeared over the crest of the hill.

"Stay with your Da, lad!" Bofur ordered, mattock held tightly.

"Uncle, I'm not--"

"Stay with Bifur!" Bofur pushed him and took steps to put himself in the line of danger to protect his family.

Arrow held loosely ready, Kíli risked a glance over at Bifur. He was shaking like a leaf, fingers white knuckled around his boar spear. And Kíli had a moment to remember that there had been Wargs in that long ago raid, and to remember how his Da's true born son had died. And then there was a noise and Kíli turned, putting an arrow into the Warg coming up on Thorin as neatly as into any deer he had ever hunted.

A howl no less animalistic grabbed his attention, and Kíli turned to see that Bifur had thrown himself at three Wargs, one with an Orc rider. An arrow dispatched the Orc handily, but Kíli found that his hands were shaking too much to aim at the Wargs who were crowding close and snapping at his Da. One had been impaled on the spear, but Bifur was having trouble pulling it back out, and the other two were moving closer.

Two hacks of axe blades cut them both down, and Kíli breathed a sigh of relief that Dwalin had come to the rescue. But Bifur turned, releasing his spear, and murder was clearly still in his mind as he leapt on Dwalin bare handed with a roar of Khuzdul that Kíli couldn't divide into words.

"Da!" Kíli screamed, dropping his bow where he stood and running over. He wrapped his arms up under Bifur's and wrenched the man back into his arms. "Da, it's okay. He isn't your enemy, Da. I'm safe. You're safe." He babbled words that he hoped would soothe the Dwarf who was shaking in his arms, seeing only blood and Orcs.

Dwalin freed the spear and dropped it at their feet. "This isn't over. He'll need his weapon. Make sure he doesn't use it on friends."

Kíli nodded as Thorin's voice rang around them. "The wizard is being a diversion. Get ready to run."

Fíli tossed him his bow and stooped to retrieve the boar spear, returning it to Bifur with soft assurances in Khuzdul. He gave both of them a shove, placing himself as rearguard as they began to dash from cover to cover. Gripping his bow with one hand, Kíli kept his other on Bifur. Eyes out to see any suspicious movement, it was the only way to make sure his Da was still with him.

It came to fighting again, and despite his best efforts, Kíli was separated from Bifur. He found himself fighting back to back with Fíli, the warm solidness making him feel safe even in the middle of battle. He was so fiercely concentrated, imagining his little not-brother with every arrow shot, that he didn't notice Fíli's absence. When Thorin shouted his name he startled but raced for cover, tumbling down among them in a pile of limbs.

He caught Bifur around the waist, hugging him tightly. After a moment, the double embrace of both Bofur and Bombur circled them. From beyond this safe haven, he heard Ori's soft sobs and imagined that everyone was holding family close.

They only had a moment before Gandalf called for them to follow. Kíli put his bow over his shoulder, knowing that it wouldn't be useful in narrow, twisting passages. Keeping one hand tightly in Bifur's, knowing that the worst would come when they were properly safe, he pulled out one of his knives.

When they came to the end of the tunnel, the light was almost blinding. Kíli's hand tightened around Bifur's and he shaded his eyes to see what they were going to. Rivendell was almost as dazzling, even from a distance. He looked over and saw his Da's features smoothing at the sight, and he had a spark of hope that maybe he would come back to himself on his own.

That hope was dashed with the arrival of the Elf hunting party. They were being given food and rest, but Kíli couldn't help but glare at Elrond as much as Thorin was. If he was going to be helpful, why start with implied threats? If he could speak Westron, why start with Sindarin?

As they were led inside, he managed to get the boar spear away from Bifur. Bofur and Bombur closed ranks around him, knowing what happened in the aftermath of stress and not wanting Kíli to have to deal with it alone.

They were given private resting rooms and told they would be called for dinner when it was ready. Kíli shut the door firmly behind them and they all prepared. It was a long hour that they spent in the room, holding Bifur as he screamed and cursed and struggled, reliving the raid in more intensity than he had in years.

He had tired himself out by the time they were called, and Kíli was able to lead him docilely to the table. Many sets of eyes were on them when they got there. He knew his hair was mussed beyond help and Bombur was sporting the beginning of a black eye and everyone must have heard the screaming. But all that mattered was piling his Da's plate high with the strange Elf food so that he would have the energy to come back to himself.


	6. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin.

Once Thorin was led away by the wizard, the rest of the group settled in to have a good party. How often would they have such fine accommodations again? Nori burgled the kitchens, finding plenty of meat that the Elves had somehow overlooked in preparing their meal. None of the Dwarves felt bad about stealing it and creating their own fire out of furniture.

Bombur cooked for them, whistling to the cheery tune that Bofur was playing in his pipe. There was pleasant chatter and the others seemed to have gotten over Bifur's fit, because they paid no attention to the Dwarf seated against the wall at one side of the room.

Kíli had been prevailed upon to pull out his own pipe and give Bofur a proper line of harmony, and when he dropped down next to Ori he was laughing with the delight of it, hair falling into his face. His friend held a sausage in his teeth, one of the first Bombur had finished cooking, and brushed futilely at it, trying to get it to stay back. Kíli obligingly tipped his head into the touch, which did nothing to help. Ori grinned around his sausage, then shook his head and went back to eating it.

"Didn't you have a tie before?" he asked.

"It got soaked when I went in the river, so I--" He paused, reaching to the back of his head and remembering the fight with Fíli over his clasp. "I must have lost it," he finished lamely.

While Ori said they would find him a new one, Kíli looked up, scanning the room for Fíli. Who was looking at him and rose to his feet as their eyes met. He strode over, both hands curled closed at his sides. Kíli rose to meet him, leaving Ori nervously nibbling his snack and watching them both with wide eyes.

Fíli opened one hand and Kíli snatched the clasp that rested on his open palm.

"That is yours," Fíli said, and they were suddenly the center of attention.

He raised his other hand and Kíli dimly heard Bofur calling "Fíli, no!" as fingers uncurled to reveal a matching one.

"And this is mine," Fíli said firmly, voice low and serious when Kíli met his gaze in confusion. "Brother."

It had to be some kind of joke, and Kíli shifted uneasily, trying to see it in the prince's face. After a moment, he couldn't hold Fíli's eyes anymore and his gaze drifted to his uncles for an explanation. But Bofur looked guilty, gripping his pipe tightly, and Bombur's attention to the food was wooden. And Bifur in his corner looked anguished.

He waited for one of them to tell him it was a joke, even as his heart plummeted. They had known, so it couldn't be a joke. Bofur had tried to stop Fíli from speaking, so it was true. It was true and they had known.

They had known!

_**THEY HAD KNOWN!** _

The clasp slipped through nerveless fingers as Kíli ran out into the dark and away from the people who had raised him, loved him, and lied to him his whole life. He collapsed on what had to be a stargazing bench, breath sobbing in his throat. He thought absently that he should be crying, but he couldn't yet come to terms with the situation.

If they knew, they hadn't found him unidentifiable and needy. They would have brought him to his family. And what would the royal line of Durin be doing abandoning infants? But what did that leave? Was he stolen? Was he bought? Had they been paid to keep him, an extra where only one heir was needed?

There was the sound of steps and an uneasy cough. Kíli looked up to see Bofur, guilt still wrinkling his brow.

"Found me at a fountain?"

"It's where you were put in my arms," Bofur answered softly.

"Paid to raise me?"

Bofur made a noise of protest. "We never received anything from him but once!" At Kíli's questioning glance, he shrugged helplessly. "You were right. They were too expensive."

"I don't know what to think anymore!" the youth exclaimed, holding his head in his hands while tears shone in his eyes.

"Then let me tell you, lad of mine," Bofur said, voice strong. "You know the raid?" Kíli nodded. As far as they were concerned, there was only the one. "Bifur ran from hiding when he saw that Orcs had his baby boy. Were there any chance that you were in danger, he never hid. And Bombur and I were always next to him."

Kíli looked up again, eyes wide and spilling their tears down his cheeks. Bofur sighed and sat next to him, pressing the tousled head against his shoulder. "Let me tell you a story," he said softly. When there was a nod of response he began.

"There was once a great Dwarf kingdom. It amassed wealth as others amass dust and was greatly acclaimed and feared and hated. It even drew the jealousy of a dragon, and that's how the kingdom was lost." Kíli breathed softly and didn't protest the start of the story, although he had heard the fall of Erebor many times.

"For years the royal family dreamed of regaining their home, but over time they lost more and more. At Azanulbizar the king and one of his grandsons died. Then the new king disappeared. Finally, all that was left was an uncrowned prince and his sister, the princess. And they were tired of wandering homeless.

"The princess agreed to a match made by her brother and married into a settled Dwarf range, her life buying a new home for their people. Or so they thought. But her new father-in-law wanted from the very beginning to break this deal and claim the line of Durin for himself through the princess.

"When her husband was slain shortly after her pregnancy was announced, suspicion fell on the heir of Durin and his followers, and they were forced to flee once again to save their lives. The princess went with them, because she wouldn't leave her family to suffer alone. 

"There were a few close calls, because the father-in-law still wanted the baby, and he had spies and cut throats who would do his bidding. The prince and princess decided that for their safety they would have to split up. And so they did, with many tears, and the princess hid in the Blue Mountains while her brother wandered the land to make money for her and draw away pursuit.

"And then he found out she was with child again."

"But uncle, her husband was dead," Kíli protested.

"Do you think the heir of Durin would leave his sister unprotected? She had a guard with her, and in the years they lived together as if married they discovered that they shared feelings."

"But uncle," Kíli protested again, "she had already..."

Bofur stroked the dark hair. "Her marriage had been for convenience. This second child was a child of passion. And they decided, the princess, her lover, and her brother, that this child didn't deserve to live hunted and in secret as they did.  
"So they found friends who were not of their kingdom and who would be above suspicion. And in the dead of night, the day of the baby's birth, he was given to those friends."

Bofur scrubbed a hand across his face. "And lad, when Thorin came to the meeting place he kissed you as if you were his own, and I didn't think he would be able to give you up. That bauble of yours came out of his hair. You are well loved, Kíli. Whether your family is the royal line of Durin or miners from out of Moria, you are well loved."

There was a sob, and Kíli's fingers tightened in Bofur's sleeve, as they had when he was small and lonely. Bofur turned his face up and wiped his cheeks dry. "Your Da will worry if we aren't back soon."

He stood, pulling Kíli up with him.

"Uncle," Kíli said, holding Bofur still. "The princess' guard. Who was he?" Anyone who didn't know him as Bofur did would be forgiven for thinking he was just asking after a loose piece of a story, and not something that was part of his own life.

Bofur glanced toward the lights of Elrond's house, then back at Kíli. "Thorin left his best friend and staunchest supporter to protect his sister. Dwalin, son of Fundin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear god, guys... So I'm working on plotting when several things hit me almost at once and I nearly choke on my breakfast.
> 
> 1\. There are evil Dwarves who have dealings and friendships with Goblins. This is in the book. It is canon.
> 
> 2\. In the movie, when the Warg scouts show up, Gandalf demands from Thorin "Wo did you tell?" Thorin answers "No one!" But that's not exactly true, because he had just come from a council where he was trying to get help from other Dwarf kings.
> 
>  
> 
> _One of whom would have been Dís' father-in-law._
> 
>  
> 
> It's more than 80 years later and he's still trying to kill them! This time by selling them out to Azog!
> 
> There are moments when things you have made up just make the actual story make so much more sense and you need to collapse and get to the point where you can share the magic with people as soon as you can. Thank you for being here to share with.


	7. Who Am I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli contemplates all he knows and has learned.

It was barely dawn when Kíli's eyes opened. He was used to getting up early and sneaking away to check his traps or start hunting. And it was a good thing too, as he left the room barefoot, with his shirt in his hands. The doors were better made and better tended than their cabin back home, and neither his Da nor his uncles so much as stirred when he left them.

He drifted down the hall silently, noting that Nori had been put on watch and fallen asleep at his post. The fresh air out on the veranda helped clear the cobwebs from his brain, and he vaulted the edge down to the ground and continued on into the wild gardens and fog.

He was of the line of Durin. The idea was like a loose tooth; something he kept returning to and poking at. Despite everything, it was still unreal.

He was of the line of Durin. He was the nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, king-in-exile of Erebor. His father was one of the most renowned warriors of their time. He had ties that he could name with pride in any mountain or settlement.

He was of the line of Durin. Connected to people he had known no longer than two months.

And just like that, his thoughts turned to the ones who had raised him. To his Da rocking him to sleep long after he was old enough to bed down on his own. To Bombur, who fed him bites and tastes of the public house meals when he stopped in hungry in the middle of the day. To Bofur's loud laughter as he lifted him down from the roof.

To Bofur's guilty expression last night when Fíli had told him the truth.

Fíli. He hadn't considered Fíli yet in everything. Fíli had helped teach him to read, at night by the fire and during the day as they rode. He had worried after him and fought back to back with him. And his eyes when showing the matching clasp. Kíli hadn't been able to meet them for long, full as they were of hope and love.

He could admit to himself, in the quiet of the predawn twilight with his back pressed to a tree, that he was almost afraid of Fíli. Fíli who, along with Ori, was the first friend his own age he'd ever had. He thought he was learning what that meant, and now there was something else there. He knew what it meant to be brothers. His uncles were brothers. But would Fíli expect that of him? He didn't know if he could give it, and feared disappointing his brother.

Bofur would tell him that he didn't need to meet anyone's expectations. And Bofur had always given him good advice. He could remember being small and having those large hands over his own as he learned to use his pipe. He could remember a low, secret voice telling him stories as if they we're only for him.

And he could remember how the most important one had been a lie. Bofur, his easygoing uncle who lied so poorly that everyone knew it, had lied to him his entire life and he had never even suspected. And were he more suspicious than he was, he would start to wonder if that was the only lie. But he was simple and trusted, and in that he was like his uncle.

His uncle! Thorin Oakenshield, the heir of Durin, was his uncle! An uncle who seemed to take precious little joy in him. He could count on one hand the number of times Thorin had spoken to him, and every one had been curt.

But his eyes, back in the Shire, had been enough to make Kíli sit up with pride. And he had praised his furs, and given Bofur the money to buy the leather tools.

_He kissed you as if you were his own, and I didn't think he would be able to give you up._

And a part of Kíli wanted so much to be party to a love that deep. He had been given the clasp out of Thorin's own hair.

The blasted clasp! A sign of his line that they'd always said he would want one day. A way to find his family, as if they were just marking time with him, waiting to give him up once he reached adulthood! Did they really think so little of him?

Voices passing nearby roused him from his contemplations. He found that it was mid morning already and the fog had all burned off. Even though the voices were speaking Sindarin, he crept deeper into the undergrowth. He didn't want to be found, even by Elves who wouldn't know him from Durin.

And how that familiar saying turned to dust in his mouth.

Bombur could always find him when he was hiding back home. He had never understood it, but somehow the warm bulk of him would fold up into the hidey holes Kíli found. Or if he was scared, Bombur would sit himself in front of the openings and he would feel safe.

Bombur always had a treat for a young Dwarf, no matter how little they had. Dark, nutty bread with creamy butter, chewy strips of jerky, hot, fresh potatoes. Even when they were hardly eating they made sure he never went hungry. How proud he'd been when his fur and leather sold and they didn't have to starve themselves to feed him and buy medicines for Da!

Even Thorin had praised his furs, he remembered proudly. And paid a fair price for them.

But was it a fair price for fur, or a fair price for the Dwarves raising his nephew?

Everything had shifted so suddenly. And Kíli couldn't help but question everything in his life. Part of him wished he hadn't been quite so adamant about coming on the quest. But then he wouldn't have made friends with Ori or Fíli. And he wouldn't know the truth, about his line or Dwalin.

Bofur had always told stories about the warrior, and Kíli had listened raptly as a child and as a youth. Dwalin, son of Fundin, hero of Azanulbizar. He had been preparing him, it seemed, letting him know something of the Dwarf who had sired him.

And the stories weren't exaggerations. In the weeks of travel, Dwalin had been at Thorin's right hand the whole time. He had opened the way into Bag End, and his fighting against the Trolls and Orcs had been amazing. No, Kíli could be proud to claim Dwalin as his sire.

He didn't know Dwalin well, though. The elder Dwarf had kept his distance. Was _he_ pleased to have given Kíli up? Thorin had loved him at that parting, but what did he know of Dwalin?

But no. He had shown pride in Kíli's shooting. And Kíli knew that Dwalin had looked over and watched the three youngest at writing practice together many nights. He just hadn't approached.

And who could blame him with Bifur snarling at flies? Although that wasn't true either, because he was civil with the rest of the company, even Bilbo who couldn't communicate with him. It was only Dwalin that made Bifur lose control, as if he were the thief rather than Nori.

Kíli sat bolt upright, late afternoon sun shining in his eyes and making him fall back into the undergrowth again.

Bifur had returned the clasp to him, last night when he returned with Bofur. He had curled Kíli's fingers around it and then pulled him into a hug and held him as though he might break. Kíli remembered the last time he'd been held like that. He had been fifteen and so sick with pneumonia that they had all thought he was going to die. Bifur had refused to leave his side, tending him at all hours, stroking his hair and holding him as if he would fall to pieces at the slightest pressure.

And now. First he treated Dwalin as if he expected the other Dwarf to steal Kíli or kill him. And then a hug as if he were already gone.

_Did they think so little of him?_

And just like that, he needed to see his Da.

He was on his feet in an instant, and he needed as little thought to get back to the house of Elrond as he had to flee it that morning. He scaled a tree to leap back into the veranda where the other Dwarves were eating dinner. They stared at him, and he knew he looked a sight in nothing but trousers and a shirt, with his feet bare and his hair tangled and probably full of twigs and leaves.

"Da!" he cried, striding along the table until he got to Bifur and his cousins. He pulled his Da to his feet and hugged him hard.

"You're an idiot, Da," he said, voice low so that others couldn't hear but shaking with emotion. "I love you."

And the trembling in the arms that held him tightly in return said that he was understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an idiom that I know when taking about a stranger that you "wouldn't know him from Adam." Durin seemed the appropriate replacement.
> 
> Also, yes, that took him all day. There were probably far more tangents and circular lines of reasoning than are written here, but I didn't want it to take all day to read. I think all of the relevant bits are here, but let me know if there's any part of his thinking that you want more information on. I can probably give it to you.


	8. Leaving Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which learning to love the line of Durin is not a hard thing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. They don't actually leave until after the chapter ends. I'm bad at titles, okay?

It was dawn again when Kíli woke, this time to a hollow feeling in his stomach instead of his heart. He carefully touched his head to Bifur's and snuck out of the room to find food. He pulled his shirt on over his head as he walked, almost missing the night's guard until he spoke.

"What are you doing up now, lad?"

Kíli startled, then stared. He hadn't known that Dwalin was one of the guards. And all of his thoughts and questions flooded into his mind. He opened his mouth to answer the question, but found that his voice did not belong to him.

"Does it hurt when I call my Da? Do you think Thorin would want me to call him uncle like Bofur and Bombur? And Balin! Should I call him uncle? Does he know? Did you know anything of me before that night in the Shire?"

It occurred to him that he was babbling like an idiot, and he poised to flee. Dwalin's voice stopped him again. "Kíli!"

He looked back and saw that Dwalin was leaned forward, his arm outstretched. Seeing his look, the older man beckoned him closer. "Come sit, lad. We've not had a chance to talk."

Kíli squatted down next to him, arranging his weight between himself and the wall. His tongue was more guarded now, and he didn't know how to start again.

Dwalin did it for him. "Don't care for your boots?"

Kíli shrugged. "They're too loud. Da needs his sleep."

He was watching, and there was a flash of something through the older Dwarf's eyes. "It's well thought. Fíli would never be so kind."

Kíli shrugged again. "Our cabin is two rooms. We're used to living on top of each other. I get up early to hunt. Uncle Bofur always needs his sleep for the mines. And Da has had a rough few days."

Dwalin looked at him a long time, and reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. "As have you, lad." Kíli gave a shy smile at the tenderness of the touch, and Dwalin continued. "Ask me anything."

There was a long moment of silence while Kíli gathered his thoughts. "Thorin gave me to uncle Bofur. Why wasn't it you?"

"I would never have been able to do it," Dwalin answered honestly.

"Then why not keep me?" That was the center of all his wonderings about these parents and uncles he had never known. He understood Bofur's story well enough, but how could they have done it?

Dwalin spread his arms. "Fíli was the only one they weren't trying to kill. He was wanted as a moldable heir of Durin. I don't know how we kept Dís' pregnancy secret, but if any had found out about you...." His voice trailed off and he shuddered. "We'd never have been able to watch you closely enough."

Kíli considered the answer before asking his next question. "Did-- did you think you would just take me back someday?" How else could he explain Bifur's reactions?

Dwalin did him the courtesy of thinking about the question before answering it, and answered with a candor that Kíli did not expect. "I'd be lying if I told you I didn't want to be your Da. I saw you born, and I wanted to teach you to fight and smith. I wanted to tend your hurts. I gave that up, for love of you. You're grown now, and I don't know how to comfort you or make you laugh. I am proud of you, but I had no part in making you the man you are. I am not your Da. That is Bifur, and I would no more take you from him than I would take Gimli from Glóin."

"I-- would like to know you," Kíli offered hesitantly.

"I would like that too," Dwalin answered, voice soft.

Kíli rose and continued down the hall, but paused before reaching the end. He turned. "Dwalin, what should I call you?"

"Bless you, lad," the older Dwarf answered, with a tone that was supposed to be bluff and merry and was neither. "It's enough that you call me."

Kíli took the warmth of that conversation down to the kitchens to beg breakfast out of the yawning cooks. He brought a big tray back with him, enough for everyone when they got up. He balanced the tray between one hand and two as he walked so he could nibble on the fresh, hot biscuits as he went.

He walked back in on the middle of a discussion with far more of the company awake than he had expected.

"I knew Sindarin before the dragon came," Thorin was saying as he approached. "I haven't practiced it in years, but I can still remember their name for the white wizard. He is expected today, and that can't be good for us. We will leave under cover of darkness. Gather all the supplies you can." He looked around, eyes finding Kíli and the tray of breakfast.

"Kíli," he said sharply. When the youth startled, he let his eyes warm. "Get some sleep. You look tired, and we won't get much sleep tonight." He turned, barking out orders to the others, and finished with Fíli. "Since you don't think before you act, you can stay here and guard our things."

"I would like to stay up with Fíli," Kíli said, drawing attention. "I'll be resting," he added defensively when Thorin just raised a brow at him. "I want to have time with my brother."

Fíli's beaming grin was all the approval Kíli needed.

The nook they had chosen for the guard's position usually held an enormous ornamental urn. They had moved it out to the veranda the first afternoon they were in Elrond's house. Fíli and Kíli fit snugly in the spot, pressed against one another's sides. They settled in, glancing at one another out of the corners of their eyes and giggling like children as they worked to figure out how to fit in the space comfortably.

Kíli only started to protest when Fíli pulled him down to be resting on his shoulder.

"Thorin said you should sleep."

Kíli leaned his head back against the wall. "I can rest like this. And I don't want to sleep. I want to talk to you."

Fíli looked at him, eyes alight with joy that couldn't be made into more than the smallest of smiles. "Ask me anything."

"Tell me about your Ma."

There was a pause and Fíli carefully wove their fingers together. "She's yours too," he said.

Kíli felt something warm fill his heart. "Tell me about her," he begged softly.

Fíli thought. "She looks like Thorin. And she's as fierce as him. Thorin and Dwalin always listen to her because it's safer that way." They both laughed at that. "She's the strongest, smartest Dwarf I've ever met," Fíli continued fiercely. "And I've never seen her cry but once, on the day you were taken away."

The warmth in Kíli's heart broke and overflowed as he listened to how this woman - this _family_ \- had loved him for so long. And as his brother talked, he tried to imagine what Dís looked like and what it would have been like to be raised by her.

He must have fallen asleep, because he suddenly woke, finding himself nestled into Fíli's side, head once again pressed tenderly to his brother's shoulder. Fíli had an arm around him, holding him steady and safe, and while he kept watch out into the corridor he hummed what had to be a lullaby, low so it wouldn't disturb him.

Kíli smiled up at how serious Fíli looked, but before he could say anything he heard Thorin's call from down the hall.

"Lads, get your things together. They're going into council and we move out as soon as it's dark."

Fíli tensed, eyes narrowing, but Kíli shrugged away.

"It's all right," he said, voice thick from sleeping most of the day away. "I was up already."

Fíli looked lost at having Kíli leave, so the younger offered a hand up. It was taken, and Fíli held tight a moment longer than needed. They looked at each other for what felt like a long time, and then Fíli leaned close and whispered, for Kíli's ears alone, "I cried too, the day you were taken from us."

Kíli watched after him as he went, stricken. And when he was alone in the hall, he shook himself and went to find his boots and his Da.


	9. In the Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author rambles about sign language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to go further into the storyline, but then Bilbo was curious about iglishmêk. I know just a little American Sign, but it has always fascinated me. And while canonically, iglishmêk is made of abbreviated language that can get thoughts across but isn't a full language, I would like to call BS. Soldiers waiting for the call to attack will want to comfort each other, and workers in a noisy environment will want to gossip. And someone deaf will want more than "rough but understandable" language. So in this story iglishmêk is a full language with all kinds of shades of meaning and special ways to say things.
> 
> There was actually a lot of their conversation as it played in my head that didn't make it to writing, because it was getting rambly as it was.
> 
> Also, they all deserved another chapter of nice things before the Goblins.

"We're climbing into the mountains now, lad," Bofur warned before they shouldered their packs. "Things happen. We may need to drop our gear for maneuverability or weight. Anything you can't bear to part with should go in your inner pockets."

Kíli took the words to heart and rummaged through his bag as they waited for dark. But they had always been poor, so none of them had much more than the basics. He settled his leather tools close to his skin and dropped the bag of beads into the knife sheath of one boot.

"Don't forget food, lad," Bombur advised. "We want to make sure we don't starve."

Kíli smiled at him and filled his pockets with lembas that had been liberated from the pantries. Then he felt his Da's hands gently gather his hair back, and the familiar weight of the silver clasp settled at the base of his skull. He tipped his head back to smile at Bifur.

_You don't want to lose this._

The sign Kíli used to thank him had overtones of respect for a great gift. It made Bifur smile and brush the youth's fringe out of his eyes.

It was not long after that Thorin came through, checking that they were all ready. He clasped hands or shoulders, leaning in to share a soft word or smile with his people. When he got to their group he hesitated, and Bofur stepped forward, clapping him on the shoulder and asking, in the same words he had used with everyone so far, if he was ready.

Thorin smiled at him and agreed that he was before tipping their heads together and sharing a conversation too soft for any other to hear. He did the same with Bifur and Bombur, and came last to Kíli.

He took both of Kíli's shoulders in his hands and touched their foreheads together with such tenderness that Kíli had to close his eyes because he couldn't stand to meet the older Dwarf's gaze.

"And you, my nephew," Thorin asked, deep voice rich with affection. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, uncle," Kíli answered. And it was the right answer, because Thorin's grip tightened for a moment and there was the sound of an indrawn breath.

"When you fear, those who love you will surround you. And when you are strong, we will rejoice with you."

He nodded once, hands coming up to grip Thorin's arms. A kiss was ghosted to his cheek, and Thorin broke away.

"It is time. Let us move out under their noses."

It was a secret departure, so there was no cheer, but they all shared devious, satisfied smiles with one another.

They spent days climbing into the mountains. Once they were up in them, the Misty Mountains seemed to go on forever. The group, which had ridden in a clump much of the time they were on the Great East Road, had to string out into ones and twos. During the day Kíli found himself at the rear of the group while Fíli was up front with Thorin and Dwalin.

And as they traveled further in and found areas that looked less than stable, iglishmêk flew between them more and more often. Bad enough their heavy steps might set off rockslides. They could easily keep quiet.

Bilbo was quietly flagging behind the rest of them. After four days, Kíli fell back from his family to offer a hand to the Halfling puffing behind them. Bilbo thanked him kindly when he offered a hand, so Kíli stayed close, eyes darting forward to make sure they weren't too far behind.

"You lot are almost silent this last day," Bilbo puffed. "Must be just as tired as me."

"Bless you, Mister Baggins," Kíli said with a soft laugh. "We're signing to each other."

Bilbo looked forward at the rest of them and nodded after a moment. "So you are. I hadn't noticed. What can you say with your hands?"

"Anything you can say with words," Kíli replied stoutly. "Started off as warnings and orders when you couldn't hear for noise or couldn't risk being heard, but, well. Some lose hearing when they get older, like Óin. And some lose it to accident or illness. And people like to gossip and joke, even when they must be quiet. So iglishmêk is as much a language as Khuzdul or Westron or Sindarin."

"And is it as secret as Khuzdul?" Bilbo asked. "Or can I learn some so I know what you are all saying?"

One hand still in Bilbo's to help him scramble over things in their path, Kíli showed him stop, come here, and run away.

"Those are very basic," Bilbo told him. "Even Hobbits use similar gestures for those."

"Important to know, though," Kíli replied. "And if you're just learning you want to stick to basics first and not try words where how you hold your hand changes the meaning."

"That intricate?" Bilbo asked in surprise. "Show me one."

Kíli pressed one hand flat to his chest and moved it in a circle, then repeated the gesture with a closed fist. "First one is please. Second one... Well, it means please, but you're sorry to be asking. It's also used just to say you're sorry, so I guess it means please forgive me."

"All that with just a change of your hand?"

"Of course. It's the difference between the open hand and the shut." He saw that Bilbo didn't understand and continued. "An open hand hides nothing. It's why Men clasp hands on meeting - to show they hold no weapons. When you ask with an open hand, you ask with no concern for hiding, or ask to share. When you ask with a closed hand you still hold something back."

Bilbo looked boggled. "I never thought there could be such levels of meaning in signs," he admitted. "Do you have names in iglishmêk too?"

Kíli had to consider the question. "It's more like ways of referring to each other. I call my Da _Da_." He demonstrated the sign. "He calls me...." He looked down at the cradle of his arms and laughed. "He calls me _child_. Dwalin still calls Nori _thief_ , although Thorin insists on using it for you." He laughed again at Bilbo's scandalized expression. "I think Nori is jealous," he offered.

They spent the afternoon on iglishmêk. Sometimes Bilbo would ask to learn signs, and sometimes Kíli would just translate what was being said ahead of them. That night, when Bilbo signed his thanks to Bifur when the Dwarf passed him his dinner, Kíli grinned fiercely.

Bifur looked so pleased when he answered that Kíli pulled his pipe out of his bag and played a soft, merry tune that had the others nodding and humming along.

That night, when the floor opened under them, he was glad he had put his pipe in his pocket and not back in his pack. He had a feeling they would never see their bags again.


	10. Goblintown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go bad again.

Ori trembled next to him. The three youngest had been maneuvered to the center of the group of Dwarves very quickly as they were herded by the Goblins. Kíli took his hand, signing iglishmêk into it. _Be calm. I will protect you._ From the other side, the same words were signed to him by Bifur, repeated like a spell or a prayer.

Both hands occupied, he watched his way as carefully as he could. Ori was trembling less, pressing into his side, breath sobbing in his throat. He stumbled every now and then, and Kíli was reminded that they were all looking out for one another because someone's hand would always be there to steady him.

He saw Goblins with their packs and their weapons. Only Dwalin slept with his hands on his axes, so only he had his weapons when they had finished falling. But the Goblins had no trouble overwhelming him with numbers and taking them. And the only regard they seemed to have for their own comrades was that when Dwalin had an axe buried in someone's head it meant that he was more vulnerable. No one brought the dead Goblins with them.

Kíli tried not to listen to the words of the Great Goblin. He looked at where their things had been thrown and tried to decide if he could make it to the weapons in one leap. And once there, what to grab first? It would have to be the others' weapons. On his own, he'd never be able to get them out of there, and the others would be used as hostages. So he would throw Dwalin his axes, and under that cover, get everyone else's weapons to them before grabbing his bow.

And if something got close while he was still working? The Goblins hadn't checked them. He still had his knives, and he was sure Nori had knives on him as well.

But then there was a growl all around him, and he tuned in to what was going on.

"Yes," the Great Goblin said with a vicious smirk. "We'll start with the youngest."

Kíli felt Ori's brothers close in behind them, and Bifur's hand tightened around his own. Dwalin pulled Fíli behind him. And Thorin put himself out in front of them all.

"You will not touch my people."

"I think you'll find that I can do whatever I want here. It's not like you can defend yourselves, can you?"

That was the moment that Gandalf appeared, filling the room with a blinding, brilliant light. Kíli dropped the hands he was holding and dove, thankful he had taken the time to figure out the dive when he felt weapons under his hands. He was starting to be able to see again, so he shouted Dwalin's name and threw his axes over.

Dwalin gave a roar and started cutting into Goblins while Kíli frantically passed out swords, axes, spears, and Ori's slingshot. He threw his bow and quiver over his back, but pulled out his knives because quarters were too close for shooting.

Gandalf shouted for them to follow, and they ran. They ducked, weaved, and pushed off all the pursuit they could, stabbing when they needed to, and followed as Gandalf led the way out of the mountain. Safely free, they collapsed, panting in the trees.

"I'm glad I listened to your advice," Ori said when he could. "All my pens and notes would still be in there."

Kíli laughed and went to reply when Gandalf's voice rang out again.

"Where's Bilbo?"

The Dwarves started to look around, most of them having thought he was with them the whole time.

"He's gone," Thorin said flatly. "He saw his chance and took it, and we will see him no more. He never saw himself as one of us anyway."

Kíli wasn't sure he agreed. Bilbo had risked himself to save them from the Trolls. And he had wanted to know iglishmêk so he could understand them and talk to Bifur. But before he could answer, there was a new voice.

"You're wrong." They all looked up with wide eyes to see Bilbo already among them. "I know you don't trust me, but I made a commitment to you, and I will see it through to the end."

Thorin twitched as if he wanted to question him further, but just then they heard howls.

They had barely caught their breaths, and they were running again. Kíli tugged at Ori, who was already panting from the mad dash through the caves, and he saw that everyone was keeping track of everyone else as they leapt and climbed their way into the trees.

But they were scrawny, mountain trees, and the Wargs started pushing them over. They leapt from one tree to the next, and Kíli didn't even have time to try and shoot the Wargs in his flight.

And then they were on the last tree before a cliff, and there was nowhere left to run.

Setting fires might not have been the best idea, but it was the only one they had.

And then Dori and Ori fell. Kíli stared and fell to his belly on a branch, reaching down to them. But Dori's grip on Gandalf's staff was too precarious to risk reaching for a hand that might have been out of reach. And then Dwalin screamed Thorin's name, and Kíli looked up.

Looked up to find his king and uncle on the ground with the Halflng standing over him. _What had happened while he was trying to save his friend?_

He glanced back down at them before turning and loosing arrow after arrow at the Wargs and Orcs penning them in. But there were too many, and he had a limited supply of arrows. So he leapt down, knives drawn, to do his best and take as many with him before he died as he could.

And then the Eagles came. How and why, he neither knew nor cared. The Eagles were there and killing Wrgs and Orcs with their talons and beaks, dropping them off the cliff, draping their entrails over the still burning trees.

But their talons were gentle when they picked up the Dwarves. And the landing when he was dropped on an Eagle's back was not as hard or as jarring as he had any right to expect. He found Fíli in front of him, and gripped the other Dwarf for support as he looked around, trying to count how many of them had made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping track of what's going on when you're in a burning tree at the edge of a cliff and your friend is hanging over certain death is very hard, don't you think?


	11. At the Carrock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are not okay yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professor Tolkien continues to destroy me in his lack of attention to actually creating Khuzdul. What is used in this chapter is a combination of actual Tolkien Khuzdul, role player created Khuzdul, and a few words borrowed from Hebrew and German. With no kind of grammar, because... Just because.
> 
> And so that you hear it in your head more or less the same way I hear it in mine, here's the rundown.  
> European style vowels. That means:  
> A like father  
> E like eight  
> I like eel  
> O like open  
> U like rule
> 
> Also, kh should be pronounced like the ch in Bach.

The sun was rising as the Eagles dropped them off. Kíli barely had time to notice that it was rising away from the mountains - meaning they had finished crossing them - before he was leaning over Fíli at Thorin's side. The older Dwarf looked so still as Gandalf worked over him. Kíli's fingers found Fíli's, and they clung to one another.

When Thorin gasped awake, he looked around the group. His eyes stopped for just a second on his nephews, but then he looked away.

"Where is the Halfling?"

Kíli looked up as well, remembering how they had managed to lose him in the Goblin caves. But he was there, nearer the edge of the Carrock, and Kíli breathed easier. While Thorin went to make his peace, Kíli turned to Ori. His friend had come close to death, and he wanted to assure himself that he was safe.

Ori smiled at the attention. He pulled out one of his pens and laughed.

"Even these made it through the night, Kíli. We're all safe. Everything is fine now."

Something about that statement just made Kíli worry more. He fussed over his friend until even Dori told him that he was worried over nothing.

"After all, the Eagles brought us far from that crag. We're safe here."

And then he heard the growl.

He turned and his eyes widened. He all but flung himself between Bifur's spear and Dwalin shouting "Da! No!"

He was in time to deflect the spear and wrench it out of Bifur's hands, but not quick enough to avoid a long gash down his arm. Bifur growled "Rakhas" as Dwalin gave voice to an angry bellow, hands tightening on his axes.

"No, Dwalin," Kíli said desperately, throwing the spear to the side and clamping a hand over his bleeding arm. "Help him!" He turned beseeching eyes on the warrior. Dwalin looked at him, then over at Bifur, who was shaking. His voice had started to rise, and if anyone had missed the situation before they were aware now.

"Rakhas! Zâgad rakhas!"

Dwalin and Bofur wrestled him to the ground, still screaming threats and abuse to dirty, murderous Orcs. Really, after the events of the previous night, how has they failed to realize he would go into one of his fits as soon as it was safe to?

Kíli moved to Bifur's side, leaning over him in worry just as deep as his worry for Thorin had been scant minutes earlier. "Da, please," he begged. "It's okay, Da."

Visions of horror keeping him from reality, Bifur spit in his face and sent him rolling with a hastily restrained arm. Bofur looked over and gave Kíli a quick shake of his head. This was not going to be a fit that his son could soothe him out of. And Bifur always felt worse when he had hurt Kíli.

Kíli curled his legs under him, still wanting to go to his Da's side and trembling with the knowledge that his arm was bleeding and he would be no help. An arm circled his shoulders and a second hand joined his over the cut. Kíli looked up to see Fíli holding him close. His eyes, and those of the rest of the company, were on the struggling, cursing form of Bifur.

After many minutes, he stiffened. Dwalin cocked a brow in question to Bofur, who just shook his head grimly.

"Ziraz," Bifur whispered in horror. "Ziraz. Ziraz udûm."

Fire in the halls. Kíli winced, knowing that their useless ruse against the Orcs had brought terrible memories. He shivered each time Bifur breathed the word fire, knowing that his wife Ríl had been found in the scorched remains of the Dwarf homes. Fíli's arm tightened around Kíli as the younger started crying.

It didn't last long before Bifur's body gave a shudder and he screamed. "Me bíkhor! Golus me bíkhor!"

The scream that followed was wordless, filled with rage and anguish, the Dwarf unable to forgive the Orcs or himself for the death of his son. Kíli turned into his brother's bracing arm, unable to watch anymore.

"Me bíkhor," Bifur whimpered, sobbing brokenly and finally able to be released. "Me skhone bíkhor...."

Kíli couldn't take it anymore and threw himself across his Da, hugging him tightly and crying with him. Bifur hugged him back, but he wasn't sure if the Dwarf knew who he was yet. Bofur rested a soothing hand in his hair, then looked around at the group.

"It's not usually that bad," he said. "Last night was just too much." He looked over at Dwalin. "All right?"

Dwalin nodded, too winded from the struggle to answer in words.

"Is that... Common?" Balin asked in amazement as Bombur brought Óin over.

Bofur shrugged and answered a trifle defensively. "We couldn't make him stay home just because there would be too much stress on the trip. He would have worried himself into a state and there would be no one to take care of him."

"What was all of that?" Dori asked.

"Memories, mostly," Bombur answered, closing ranks around his cousin.

"He hurt Kíli," Dwalin pointed out, voice sharp.

"So we take the boar spear away from him until we're sure it's safe," Bofur snapped back. "And don't you dare tell him he's the one that did that."

The group stared, unused to an angry Bofur. Finally, Gandalf cleared his throat.

"Am I right in assuming he should rest before we continue?"

Bofur nodded glumly. "He should, but not out here. Closest safe place is back the other side of those mountains."

"Not necessarily," Gandalf answered. "I know of a man quite close by who might give you aid. He must be approached carefully, but I think with your stories you should have no problem. He is a great hater of Orcs, and Bifur alone should get his sympathies with you."

"By all means, wizard, lead us," Thorin said. "We all have need of rest."

Dwalin volunteered to carry Bifur, and Fíli reached out to support Kíli, whose eyes were still leaking tears.

"He still has a beautiful son," he whispered as they started down the trail.


	12. In the House of Beorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sleep is a great healer, and everyone indulges in it.

The giant Beorn had growled on first seeing them. But he easily recognized the axe in Bifur's skull as being Orcish, and that made him hesitate long enough to notice that several others were in need of rest and healing. He grudgingly let them in, demanding that they tell their story before leaving.

Considering the size of their host, Kíli should not have been surprised at the size of the furniture inside his house. But he found himself following Dwalin with eyes wide. He hadn't felt so small when he had been a child, and he found himself drawing closer to the larger Dwarf.

Dwalin smiled sideways at him, supporting Bifur's semi-conscious body on his back. Óin showed Beorn's dogs where he wanted pillows large as mattresses laid out for them, then waved Dwalin over. Between them they got Bifur settled on a pillow and Dwalin turned to leave. Óin stopped him and signed an order before turning to Kíli and fussing him onto another pillow.

 _I'm fine,_ Kíli signed to him, knowing his ear horn had been destroyed at some point in the last day and he wouldn't hear. _Da's the one who needs help._

Óin snorted and ignored his protest. He helped Kíli out of his shirt and coat and made humming noises over his arm. Kíli looked at it in surprise. In his worry over Bifur, he had forgotten about his own wound. After a moment, Óin nodded and turned to Bifur, checking his eyes and grip. He pulled a few small vials out of his pockets and looked around for Dwalin.

Dwalin came back around that time with a bottle and what had to be one of the smallest cups Beorn owned. "Just mead," he said, showing a mark on the bottle to Óin.

Óin, far from being upset, opened the bottle and sniffed it with relish. He took a long, bracing draught before pouring some in the cup and swirling a few drops from one of his vials in. He nodded to Bifur, and Dwalin braced him up so he could drink. His eyes were already closing as he was laid gently back down.

Óin then refilled the cup and turned to Kíli.

"I will sleep!" the youth protested, signing along with his words.

Óin snorted. "Everyone is getting some of this today. Take it like a good boy and I won't have Dwalin force it down your throat."

He was unsure if Dwalin would actually do it, but Kíli drank the drugged mead anyway. He saw Óin wave Dwalin away and crouch to clean and bind his arm. But he felt sleep pulling him down and didn't want to be alone.

He reached out to grasp Dwalin by the ankle. "Stay?"

Dwalin looked down into eyes that were blinking ever heavier, and sat down next to the makeshift pallet. Kíli smiled at him.

"Story?" he asked, voice younger than usual.

The last thing he heard as he drifted into sleep was Dwalin's rough voice speaking softly, just for him.

It was light when he woke, and he didn't know the angles of the house well enough to know if it was evening or morning. Evening and he had just slept the afternoon away. Morning and it had been the afternoon and night as well.

He turned, a touch lightheaded from lack of food and the after effects of the drug, and saw that Ori and Fíli had climbed into bed with him. One lay on each side, and for several minutes he watched them sleep with a smile on his face. His bandaged arm lay over Fíli's where his brother had an arm across his stomach. Ori had curled into his side, face hidden against his side. Kíli brushed a kiss to each head and wriggled carefully out of the double embrace, pausing to make sure they were both settled comfortably behind him.

Then he turned to the pallet next to him and knelt at Bifur's side. His Da seemed to be sleeping peacefully. His grip when Kíli took one of his hands was automatic and strong. Kíli breathed a sigh of relief and leaned down to ghost a kiss to Bifur's cheek.

He stood, wondering if Óin had drugged everyone, including himself. Surely someone should have been telling him to lie down and rest, but there were just the sounds of sleep. They had fallen into bed singly and in pairs and were all still there. Dwalin and Bofur were on the other side of the three youngest, facing toward them even in sleep. Dori and Nori, despite everything, were curled around each other protectively. Bombur, Balin, Óin, Glóin, Thorin, and Bilbo all had pallets to themselves. Although Kíli smiled to see that the Halfling's sword was next to him and one hand was flung out toward Thorin, as though he might have to leap out of sleep to the other's defense.

So the only one left of the party was....

He turned again, and sitting at a table in the middle of the giant room was Gandalf, quietly smoking his pipe. He was obviously aware that Kíli was awake, and winked at him when their gazes met. Kíli stumbled twice getting across the room and into a chair, and by the time he managed it there was already a thickly buttered slice of toast in front of him and a huge mug of some kind of juice standing next to it.

"Now that you are awake, young Kíli, I must take my leave."

The toast stopped halfway to his mouth. "Leaving, Gandalf?"

The old wizard smiled at him. "There are many events that happen in this world," he said. "And your adventure is only one, though one that may have greater import than any of you know. There are other things I must attend to."

"You'll leave while everyone is still asleep?"

"You will find, I think, that you are awake, young Dwarf," Gandalf answered with a twinkle in his eye.

Kíli's face flamed and he stuffed his mouth to try and hide his embarrassment.

Gandalf put a fond hand on his head. "I am leaving Mister Baggins with you. Try to listen to him when possible. Beorn knows this side of Mirkwood better than any of you, and his advice is worth taking as well. I promise to be back when I may."

He rose, and Kíli looked up and up at him. "Surely," the wizard finished with amusement, "you might stay out of trouble for a while?"

Kíli smiled back. "No promises. The world is big, and often hates Dwarves."

With a chuckle, the wizard went out the door and Kíli was alone with his sleeping family and friends.


	13. Into the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they make a plan, and it is a good one, but it does not work.

It was a pitiful pile, especially after they divided it up. They still had all their weapons, although Kíli's bow would be useless until he got more arrows. Almost all of them had stuffed their pockets with lembas, and more than half of them had full canteens, so they could eat for a time.

But other than that, they had hardly more than what they stood up in. Kíli's leather tools sat with Nori's lock picks and Ori's pens. His Da and uncles were the only ones to think of money, and Dwalin was the only one to carry the kit he used to clean and sharpen his axes. At least Óin had filled his pockets with nothing but the medicines and salves he thought they were most likely to need.

"What is this?" the healer asked, holding up the one metal vial that wasn't his. It was bluish steel and capped with black glass.

"He brought that?" Bofur demanded, grabbing it. "Yes, this belongs to Bifur."

"What is it for?" Thorin asked.

"It calms his mind," Bombur answered, looking over at the only Dwarf still sleeping.

"He can't be taking it," Dwalin pointed out.

Both glared at him. "It also makes him stupid and sleepy. He keeps it because we spent more than we could afford on it."

"Why?" Ori asked. "If it does that?"

Bombur snorted. "The healer was going to tell us that and risk a sale? And he does use it sometimes, in winter."

"Why in winter?" Ori asked.

"Winters are difficult sometimes," Kíli answered, a hand on his friend's shoulder to stop his questions. "What do we need?"

Balin sighed and started counting. "Bedding. Dishes and cookware. Food that isn't Elf waybread or preserves. Soap. Packs. Far too much."

"Can't we get it from Beorn?" Bilbo asked.

"We've little enough money to buy it," Thorin said, shaking his head.

Bilbo just looked confused. "You're all talented Dwarves. I'm sure he has things that need fixing. Or Ori has his pens and can write for him. I'm sure we can arrange something. We'll just be here a few days, and with poor Bifur laid up and you needing to heal that's not a bad thing."

Fíli placed a hand over the bandages on Kíli's arm. Kíli signed _I'm fine_ to him and turned the vial of medicine over in his hands. He looked up at Thorin and said "I'm willing to work." Nods went around the group and it was decided.

They were most of a week getting together the things they needed. Despite working hard with Beorn and his animals, they all found it a welcome rest. Ori was able to take up reading and writing practice with Kíli again, Balin shared stories, and there was music most nights.

Óin pronounced Thorin fit the night before they left, and Bifur was allowed his spear back. He held it a moment before putting it with his new pack. Kíli smiled at him, happy that he had recovered so well, but Bifur's eyes strayed to the neat stitching on the arm of his son's coat.

Beorn thanked them when they left in the morning. Despite everything, he laughed and said that they were a group he would miss. "From here you want to head east until you get to Mirkwood. You've seen the paths on the maps, and once you get on one do not get off it. Come back all of you and tell me how your journey ends."

They bowed their thanks and turned, shouldering their new packs and provisions. Kíli stayed near Bifur for the first day's march, worried about his Da's melancholy. But the open air and moving along on their quest again seemed to lighten everyone's spirits, and by evening Kíli was content to throw himself down with Ori and Fíli and whisper confidences like the young friends they were.

The next day they reached Mirkwood.

"Remember," Bilbo said from the front of the group, "we stay to the path." He looked at the forbidding darkness under the tree and muttered, "I wouldn't want to go off it."

They entered, and dark silence descended. Sunlight barely filtered through the trees to the forest floor, and it seemed muddy and thin by the time it got to them. Within half an hour they were arguing.

Kíli felt a tightness in his chest. He kept darting glances at Bifur, but after all it wasn't _his_ job to take care of him. So he darted to Fíli's side, and when they started grating on one another's nerves too much he walked on alone.

They slept in the path that night, chewing on food from Beorn and grateful that his honey and travel bread didn't need to be heated. It was impossible for them to make a fire, and nighttime in Mirkwood was so dark that they couldn't see their hands in front of their faces.

Kíli returned to Bifur's side, although the older Dwarf huffed at him in annoyance. His Da still pulled him close, signing assurances into his hand.

It was no better in the morning, and Kíli walked by Ori's side through the morning. But their favorite game of finding cirth around them seemed childishly foolish here in the dark woods. And Ori wasn't interested in it anyway - finding letters and simple words was beneath him.

So once again, Kíli found himself scouting ahead on his own. He went further and further, not wanting to hear the complaining behind him, until finally Thorin called him back and told him not to get too far ahead.

By the end of a week, the only company that Kíli could stand was his Da. Bifur seemed to be the only one not snapping at flies, and his steadiness was what Kíli needed.

 _When darkness is within, the darkness without cannot hurt you,_ he signed into Kíli's hand the night they ran out of food. He stroked his son's hair. _I see it, but it cannot get in._

With no food and no water, they kept to the trail for two more days. Finally, Kíli could stand it no longer. He dropped his pack and weapons in a pile, kicked off his boots, and jumped into one of the trees. He was determined to climb to the top and see how far they had come, but before he got too high Thorin was screaming at him to come down.

He paused, then experimentally climbed to the next branch as if he didn't hear. One of Nori's knives snicked into the tree trunk next to him, and he decided continuing wasn't a possibility. He pulled the knife out of the trunk and dropped it, then climbed down himself.

Thorin seemed to take great relish in reprimanding him, and Kíli kept his head down and got himself back into his boots and pack. His shoulders hunched and he ignored the words as well as he could.

"Is that how a prince acts?" Thorin demanded to finish, and Kíli had had enough.

"How am I supposed to know?" he demanded in return, hands balling into fists and glaring up at Thorin. "I'm a hunter, a tanner, and a wood cutter. I am not a prince! You saw to that the day I was born!"

Thorin's eyes were equal parts rage and pain. Knowing it was the worst thing he could do, Kíli turned and raced into the forest to escape from that expression. He heard shouts of his name and crashing in the underbrush and knew that they were following him.

The light, already dimming on the path, was almost gone in the closeness of he forest. And through that he could see the light of torches. Someone lived in the forest. Why had they stayed in the path to starve when there was someone there who might trade them food?

He turned to it, and heard the others closing behind him. They had seen it too, and all of them were making for the light and the faint sound of singing. He had time to see a party of Elves with tables laden before he burst into their firelit circle.

They stared at him for a long moment, and it went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how pleased I am with the first part of this chapter. But the conversation needed to occur, and some important information is given. (Part of which is that Bifur's cousins still don't like Dwalin very much.)
> 
> Once they hit Mirkwood I start liking it again. Yup. I like writing about the painful, nasty things. What the hell, self?


	14. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go wrong. Again. But not entirely!

There was a sickeningly sweet scent in Kíli's nose when he woke up. He tried to turn his head away from it, and the fact that he couldn't move woke him completely. He couldn't open his eyes, and when he tried to wriggle his body he found that he was bound tight from top to toe. He wanted to call for help, but he couldn't get the breath to scream.

He could still hear, though. There was a lot of movement around him, and it sounded like it was coming closer. Maybe he had been noticed. Was that a good thing? He stilled.

But the voice was Bilbo, and he wriggled again, wanting Bilbo to find him. He heard his bindings cut open more than he felt it, and there was suddenly cool, fresh air blowing the sweetness away from him and making him able to breathe again. He reached out to Bofur and Fíli, whose arms were supporting him, and gasped at how hard it was.

"Spiders," Fíli told him. "We're none of us too steady."

Bofur and Fíli seemed to be the strongest and they lowered him down between Nori and Ori before going back for the next person. The three of them leaned on each other, pulling in the others as they were brought over. It was not long before Kíli found himself with Dwalin's head in his lap and Bifur pressed to one side, while Nori curled around Dori protectively.

Ori shouted when the giant spiders started to drop from the trees, and it was a good thing because none of the rest of them had breath to do so. Fíli, Bofur, and Bilbo came running, weapons out and slicing.

"You go get the others," Bilbo called. "I will get the spiders away."

It must have been the effects of the spider venom, because Kíli was certain that Bilbo disappeared into thin air. But the spiders were drawn away by noises and silly singing from a medium distance, and he saw them fall sliced open.

Bilbo wasn't back when the others had all been found, but he shouted for them to get away from the spiders as quickly as he could. Kíli pulled out one of his knives, blazing marks on the trees to show the way they were stumbling so that Bilbo could follow them.

As such, he was the last to notice the Elves they had run into. His knife was plucked from his hand, the bow from his back, and he was pushed into the group of Dwarves. They were spitting mad, but the spiders had made them unable to fight back when their weapons were taken. The Elves all had sword drawn or arrow nocked, so there was little the Dwarves could do but support each other and follow where they were led.

Once back at the Elf stronghold, they were searched. The Elves took their packs, coats, and boots, and patted them down to find hidden inside pockets. Kíli felt naked and vulnerable when they were done, but resisted leaning into his Da or sliding his hand into Fíli's for comfort. He could not be weak. He could not let himself be used as a hostage against the people he cared about.

Walking felt like falling that never quite finished, and anxiety meant that he still had not gotten his breath back. He couldn't pay attention to Thorin trying to explain that they were without food and had only been trying to find food, because any time he wasn't moving he felt like he would never start again. But they were surrounded by guards, so all he could do was brace his legs and pray that he didn't fall down in the middle of them.

With the absence of any evidence, the Elf king decided that they were a threat and ordered the separated and locked up. A guard's arm coming down heavily on his arm made Kíli stumble slightly. And then he heard the familiar growl.

He turned his eyes to Bifur, seeing a snarling expression of rage turned on the guard holdng his son. And behind him, another guard had an arm raised for a blow. Kíli's eyes widened, and before he even knew what he was doing he pushed away from his guard and was at his Da's side. His arms were around the older Dwarf protectively before the blow fell across his shoulders and drove both of them to their knees.

Breath fast and shallow, clutching Bifur to him, Kíli sought the gaze of the golden king of the wood. "Please," he said, voice ringing through the silent hall despite being low and hoarse. "My Da is sick in his mind."

The Elf was unmoved. "How does that concern me?"

There was movement near him, and a younger blond Elf, with a frown similar enough that they had to be kin of some kind, turned a disapproving look at him. Kíli turned his attention to this one.

"Please, don't let my Da get hurt. I will take his place."

"And will you tell me what I want to know?" the king asked, expression amused and obviously expecting a negative answer.

Looking back at him brought the rest of the Dwarves into Kíli's line of sight, Thorin's frown dark and forbidding. And he knew that this was not the behavior of a prince, but he did not care, because his Da was more important than his own pride.

"I will tell you anything," he answered, feeling the tightening of Bifur's arms and the silent reprimand to keep quiet.

"Then tell me what you are doing here."

Kíli forced himself not to look at the rest of the company. "I'm taking my Da to the Iron Hills," he said, lie coming easily to his tongue. And how glad he was that he had practiced it after the first time Thorin had refused to explain their quest in Rivendell. "The healers there are more skilled than the ones in the Blue Mountains."

The Elf king looked thunderous. "You expect me to believe that Thorin, son of Thráin, is escorting an invalid?"

Kíli's breath and voice stuttered in his throat. "They said they were going the same way."

"And what were you doing in my forest without permission?"

"We were waylaid in the mountains," Kíli answered honestly. "This was the nearest road east. Please, we meant no harm." He let his real fear color his voice, unashamed to beg on his Da's behalf. His arms trembled with it, and his breath continued fast and shallow.

The younger Elf moved close to the throne and whispered in the king's ear. After a moment, the king nodded and sat back. "Well, young Dwarf," he said, a smug smile on his face. "You are in luck, it seems. My healer is better than any Dwarf you would find in the Iron Hills. And while you are my... guests, I will allow your father to have the benefit of her services."

He waved one hand and Bifur and Kíli were pulled together to their feet and led from the room. Kíli couldn't risk looking back, but he hoped he had done some good for his family and his friends. Now that it was known, Kíli had no problem pressing against his Da's side and taking his hand. They signed to each other, Kíli reassuring that everything would be fine, Bifur berating his son for foolishness.

But the healer ordered the guards outside the door when they arrived, and she looked at Bifur with keen, considerate pale eyes. When she reached out a smooth, pale hand, the Dwarf had no hesitation in accepting it.

"This is very old," she said, voice high and light and calm.

"We are very poor," Kíli answered, part of him glad that even his silver hair clasp had been wrenched from his hair. "We have done what we can."

Slim fingers pressed gently to Bifur's head next to the axe, and he looked up at her with calm, unblinking eyes. "Tell me how this happened."

Kíli drifted closer, voice low as he told the story he had grown up hearing. She listened quietly, not taking her eyes away from Bifur's or her hands from his head. There was a long silence when he finished, and Kíli grew worried.

Finally, the Elf turned to him. "I am Thúlamdir, the healer to king Thranduil and his court. I believe I can give your father some relief." She held a hand up to forestall the emotion growing in his eyes. "He cannot be fully healed. It has been too long. But I can ease the pain he still feels, and give you something to help calm his mind."

"Anything!" Kíli cried joyfully. "Anything you can do for him. I will pay you any price you ask, even if I have to spend my whole life doing it!" He wrapped an arm around Bifur, feeling tears pricking his eyes. Familiar rough hands smoothed them away and he turned his face against his Da's shoulder. "Da," he murmured, breath hitching.

The healer frowned at that and took hold of Kíli's chin, turning him to face her. He blinked up at her, tears still glimmering in his eyes.

"I do not like the sound of your breathing," she said. "Is that common for you?"

He shook his head. "It's been since the spiders."

"Spiders?" she exclaimed. "The ones that have come to the wood? Their poison is in you?" She released him to move with a quick grace to a cabinet of jeweled glass and metal bottles. "And the rest of the Dwarves as well?" she asked, pouring a stream of shimmering red liquid into two glasses of the clearest water Kíli had ever seen.

"Yes," he answered.

She shook her head and handed them the glasses. "I will send this medicine down to them with the guards. Take it now, so it has no lasting effect on you."

Both drank trustingly, and Kíli felt a knot in his chest loosen as soon as the cool liquid hit his tongue. "They won't trust any medicine the guards give them," he told her.

"Then you will have to write them a message," she answered, collecting the glasses back from them.

He smiled shyly. "I can do that."

Carefully holding the pen and forming his cirth, Kíli wrote "Ôrugur za" on a scrap of paper before signing his name to it. "It is safe." The simplest of messages, but enough, he hoped. It was Khuzdul, and who would be able to forge it? Just in case - since he knew that some of them would still be suspicious, he added at the bottom "son of Bifur, and son of Dwalin."


	15. The Lay of the Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is hope.

Thúlamdir, like Óin, put Bifur to sleep before checking him over again. Unlike most of the other healers they'd been to, she didn't seem to mind Kíli crawling up onto the examination bench. She asked questions about the raid as she checked him over, and Kíli struggled to remember everything he had ever been told about it.

Eventually, she nodded and began mixing together a medicine. Passing over finely blown glass bottles, she poured it into a metal flask.

"Just two or three drops of this in water," she said, handing it to Kíli. "It will calm his mind and help him keep his emotions under control. It will not cure him," she hastened to add. "There is no cure. But it will help. That flask should last several months if you use it regularly."

"And do you know how much the flask alone would cost to customers outside the forest?" came a voice from the door, and Kíli looked over to see the younger blond Elf who had presumably spoken up in his behalf. He was leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed, watching them with a crooked smile.

Kíli wondered what it was about blond princes that they enjoyed mocking him. He sat up, the flask clutched in one hand, the other on Bifur's shoulder. "I will pay what needs to be paid," he answered, eyes and mouth flatly serious. "No matter how long it takes or what I am asked to do."

The Elf paced forward, looking at him curiously through heavy eyes. "You'd do anything?"

Curse it, he'd been wrong about Fíli's interest. If he was lucky, he was wrong again. "Anything," he said through gritted teeth.

The Elf came to a stop directly in front of him. "Tell me which of them uses the bow. I've never heard of Dwarves using bows before."

The nerve of him! Kíli drew himself up, eyes flashing. "The bow does not belong to Elves!" he snapped. "No more than the axe belongs to Dwarves or the plow to Halflings!"

The Elf's eyes flew open. "Your pardon, Master Dwarf. I seem to have offended you."

"You have," Kíli agreed. And more fool him for giving in to it, because this had to be a relation of the Elf king, and getting in his bad graces now would be worse than arguing with Fíli in the Shire. His fingers tightened in Bifur's shirt, and he felt the older Dwarf shift, starting to come out of the drugged sleep. "My Da is waking. I must give him my attention."

The Elf gave a low, mocking bow. "I will speak with you later. That is the beginning of the price of your medicine." He strode confidently out of the room, and when the door closed behind him, Kíli felt easier.

Thúlamdir had been quiet during the confrontation, but now she spoke. "I want to tend your father for a few days, so you will stay near here. I am going to tend the rest of your party now, and your guards will bring you to your room." She had a basket over one arm and gave him a courteous nod before sweeping gracefully out of the room, stopping to talk briefly with the guards.

Kíli was the one who half carried Bifur down the hall to their room. It was bare of everything but a couch and small enough that he didn't feel overwhelmed with the size. For a prison, it would do. The guards locked the door behind them, and he heard the sound of them chatting, although he couldn't hear the words.

"Kíli," a familiar voice hissed from close by.

Kíli looked around in surprise. "Mist--" He was cut off by a hand over his mouth. But it was a hand he could not see, and that made him struggle.

"Quietly," Bilbo's voice whispered in his ear. "I am invisible, so I'm the only one of us free to roam the citadel. I know where they brought your packs and weapons, and I will find the others later. But we need to make plans, and I need to know more about that medicine of your Da's."

"He doesn't need it," Kíli said as soon as the invisible hand was lifted from his mouth. "The Elf healer has given us a new one. He doesn't need the old one, Mister Baggins!"

"It's not for him," Bilbo answered, a trifle sourly. "It's for the guards once we come up with a way out of here. Oh, bother the lot of you. If that's all you can think, I will have to come up with a plan on my own."

There was silence, and Kíli quietly panicked. "Mister Baggins?" He whispered, turning and trying to hear the Halfling. "I'm sorry, Mister Baggins. I'll be good, and do what the Elf prince wants, and tell you anything I find out. Are you still here?"

"Of course I'm still here, fool," Bilbo's voice answered from behind, still sounding put out. "The door is locked. I can't get out until they open it."

"Oh," Kíli said softly. At least that was simple. He knocked on the door, and held it when the guards opened it. "We haven't eaten in days. Can we get food?" He felt Bilbo brush by as the guards assured him he'd be fed soon.

The door locked again, and he moved closer to Bifur. Bilbo was there, and able to roam free. There would be a way to get out. He had to think, to gather himself together to do what was needed to help them all get out.

Fingers curled around his, and he looked down to see his Da's eyes open. He had obviously heard everything. He nodded once, and signed _We will find a way._

Kíli curled into his arms, hope rising.


	16. Strange Jailer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kíli makes a new friend in an unexpected place.

They were several days in their private prison before Thúlamdir was finished with them and they were transferred to the cells. Kíli didn't mind too much. They were closer to everyone else, and they hadn't been separated. They settled in easily and Bifur spent much of the first afternoon putting braids that instantly unraveled into Kíli's hair.

Legolas appeared at their cell door the next day. Kíli rose to greet him.

"The archer," the young Elf demanded.

Kíli's arms crossed. "Me."

"You?" Legolas repeated, looking at his worn clothes with distaste.

"Me," Kíli repeated, eyes narrowing and lips thinning. "We are poor, not useless."

"Prove it!"

"Of course!" Kíli said, arms sweeping wide in amazed offense. "I'll just make my bow appear by magic, fletch new arrows from the straw in the cot, and not get tackled and chained to the wall by the guards for having a weapon. Harder things happen every day!"

There was a snort of laughter from behind him, and he was glad that it was at least amusing his Da.

"At the range, of course," Legolas snorted, lips twitching into a half smile. "With a child's bow, since you're so small." He snapped his fingers, and the cell was opened.

Bifur spoke as Kíli was brought out of the cell practically at knife point. "Akhten," he called, adding in iglishmêk that he should keep his ears open.

"What was that?" one of the guards asked suspiciously.

"My Da only speaks Khuzdul," Kíli answered, not translating the warning to be careful. He flicked his fingers in return, promising to be wary. The guards ignored it, and that was a piece of information that Kíli stored away.

He had never been to a proper practice range before, creating his own targets from wood and straw. Even with the guards' weapons unsheathed to remind him how quickly punishment would come down on him, he enjoyed examining the targets and the weapons. The bows were of fine quality, although they were very different in design and decoration than his own.

He picked one that was the right size, running his hands along it and testing the weight of its pull. Then he looked up to the Elves. The guards flanked the door that was the only way in or out of the courtyard, and Legolas seemed a bit more willing to believe that he knew how to use a bow.

The prince stalked to his side and pulled out another bow. He tossed Kíli a quiver of arrows, and the guards tensed behind him. Kíli took one, then looked up for further instructions.

"Shoot it," Legolas said crossly.

Kíli turned, pulling the string back to his ear and letting fly. It was close to the bullseye, which he considered a triumph for an unfamiliar bow. He shot a look over to the Elf prince. Let him say anything now.

"Not bad," Legolas said grudgingly.

He led the way to the official shooting line and they spent an hour doing nothing but shooting against one another. Kíli was frustrated by the end of it. Half of his shots tightly group in and around the bullseye. The other half were everywhere. He was glad he was only shooting at targets and not at potential dinner, because he would have gone hungry.

"What's wrong?" Legolas asked, resting against his bow and turning to the Dwarf.

Kíli ran a hand roughly through his hair. "It's usually pulled back. The wind sends it everywhere and ruins my aim."

"Why isn't it pulled back now?" The Elf asked with a frown.

"Someone took my clasp. Silver. The one fine thing I own." He shot a glare at the guards.

Legolas hmphed, and took the bow and arrows from Kíli's hands. He waved to the guards and they led Kíli back to his cell.

Several days passed quietly, and Kíli wondered what Legolas would want next, because that was far too simple a payment for Bifur's medicine. Bilbo came by daily to collect information. Bifur had most of it, because the guards didn't bother to stop conversations when he was there. They had understood him to not understand anything but Khuzdul, which was what Bifur had hoped. Bilbo shared news about the others and Kíli wished he could send them messages. But it wouldn't do to make Bilbo their messanger. He had so much to do as it was.

Legolas took Kíli's hand through the bars and pressed something into it. When the young Dwarf opened his hand, his eyes widened in wonder. He looked up at Legolas, a smile breaking out and widening until his cheeks hurt.

It was a silver hair clasp, the image of his. And though they were a matching set, he knew beyond doubt that this one was Fíli's. Holding it made him feel closer to his brother, as if the connection was there again. He wasn't separate and alone when he had the clasp in his hand, and settling it into the familiar spot in his hair where his normally sat only heightened the sensation. Fíli was with him again. The rest of his family was nearby. He was strong.

There was movement behind him and Bifur's hand touched the clasp. He looked up at Legolas, and beckoned him with one hand. The Elf prince bent down, regarding what he had to think was a madman with grave courtesy.

When Bifur reached through the bars and started to put a braid just behind his right ear, the guards started to move closer. Legolas waved them away and allowed the braid to be finished. When Bifur cast about for a way to tie the braid off, the Elf prince cut a length from the ties of his shirt sleeves and passed it over.

Bifur nodded when he was finished, patting Legolas on the shoulder and muttering in Khuzdul. Kíli met Legolas' questioning glance with a smile.

"It means you can be trusted."

Legolas pulled back in confusion, fingers moving to the braid. "Shooting range," he said after a moment, standing back to let Kíli be let out of the cell.

The next time the Elf prince came, he had a bemused expression. "The bald one sent you a message."

Kíli eagerly gripped the bars, looking up with a smile.

"Bofur is with him and they're both fine. None of them have said so much as a word to me before, nor to any of the guards or my father. Why did he do that?"

Kíli reached up to grip the end of the braid that was still in Legolas' hair. He gave no other explanation, and no more was needed. The Elf seemed overwhelmed. "For a piece of silver?"

"You returned something taken away, and you hae trusted me. Even with your guards there, if I shot quickly enough...."

"You would die immediately."

"But you would be dead too. You trusted me, so Da thinks we can trust you."

Legolas walked away, and it was almost a week before he appeared again, demanding Kíli come shoot with him.

"Why me?" Kíli asked as they walked to the range. "Surely there are others who shoot here."

"You don't let me win because I'm the prince," Legolas answered. "Although it would probably be prudent for you to not show how good you are when you're a prisoner. And you don't bow to me."

Kíli snorted. "I don't bow to the heir of Durin. He is a Dwarf, just like me. And if I don't bow to the one who is descended from our oldest father, I will not bow to you."

Legolas shot him a crooked smile. "Your honesty draws me back," he admitted.

And this time, while they shot, they talked about everything under the sun. And it was nearly dark when Kíli was brought back to the dungeon.


	17. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they escape Thranduil's fortress.

It didn't take long for Kíli to realize they weren't heading to the archery range. "Legolas, where are we going?"

The Elf prince looked back at him, eyes dark, and Kíli heard one of the guards snicker behind him. "You said you'd do anything."

So, it was come to this in the end anyway. He gave a sharp nod, eyes skittering away to the walls. He had thought Legolas was his friend, but even if it was some kind of ruse to get his trust it was okay. He had gotten much information for Bilbo, and had given nothing away. He could deal with what he needed to do, both for his Da and for the quest.

They came at last to a door, and Legolas turned to the guards, ordering them down the hall. "I don't want you listening," he said to snickers and salutes.

The door locked behind them and Kíli tried not to tense. He had known it could come to this. He had been prepared from the beginning for the possibility. His pride was a small price to pay for freedom and his Da's sanity. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and waited.

"He has gone mad, Kíli."

The young Dwarf's eyes flew open again. He looked over to see Legolas pacing the room restlessly.

"His magic protects the rest of us from the darkening, but he has been changed since... Since before the dragon came!"

Kíli was slowly coming to the realization that what had been said in the hall was for the benefit of the guards. Still, he kept his voice low and submissive when he spoke. "What troubles you?"

Legolas collapsed into a chair, head in hands. "There were letters left out on his writing desk. 'The agents in the mountains failed. There is a king's ransom for you if you send the head of Thorin Oakenshield and any kin with him.' And he doesn't know who is his kin, so he's considering killing all of you! Kíli, what can I do? I can't let my father do something like that! He'd never be the same again!"

Kíli approached carefully. He wanted to trust Legolas, but could he? Could he completely? Their lives and freedom were on the line. But he'd been getting to know the Elf prince for over a month, and he wanted to believe he could trust him.  
"We have been planning," he offered softly, dropping to his knees and looking up with wide, hopeful eyes. "The barrels will be sent to Laketown soon."

"How will you get them out of the cells?" Legolas asked, looking at him curiously.

Kíli hesitated, and felt a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and breathed "please." When he heard a soft exclamation from Legolas, he opened his eyes again. "Mister Baggins will drug the guards and steal the keys."

After staring for a long moment, Legolas shook his head. "The guards take an anti-poison before going on duty. I will deal with them, and move your things to the scullery."

Joy choking him, Kíli pressed his fingers to his lips in silent thanks.

When the door was opened and the guards told to take Kíli back to his cell, the young Dwarf was mussed and limping. His hair was loose again, and hid his face from the guards, who were laughing at jokes he could guess the content of for all that the guards were careful never to speak anything but Sindarin around all the prisoners save Bifur.

Bifur took one look when they arrived at the cell, and came roaring to his feet. The guards laughed at him and pushed Kíli into the cell. Bifur's arms came warm and tight around him, and he clung to his Da, leaning close to whisper in Khuzdul that it was an act and he was unhurt.

While the guards went back to their post, Bifur smoothed Kíli's hair back from his face, looking into his son's eyes to make sure he was telling the truth. The bright hope in them made him believe. Kíli curled on the cot with his back to the door, telling their plan in iglishmêk, and if Bifur thought he was being too trusting, he didn't say anything.

In the evening, a new pair of guards brought dinner and replaced the old ones. Kíli was almost vibrating from anticipation, and it took a lot of effort from Bifur to get him to eat. But they didn't know when next they would have food, so it was important to eat first.

There were a few more hours to wait before Legolas came. He gave the guards orders in Sindarin, and then unlocked the cell and motioned the two Dwarves out. They both came trustingly, but Bifur's expression promised trouble if they were betrayed.

They were not, and they were soon reunited with their friends and family. A pair of large barrels had been filled with their packs and weapons, and the others were all pulling on boots and coats when they arrived. Kíli was overwhelmed, and greeted everyone with tight embraces. Best of all was when he was held between Dwalin and Bofur, and he knew that somehow everything would be all right.

Legolas had held back from the reunion, but he was still there when they all turned to him.

"It's a good thing we're doing this tonight," the Elf prince said. "A Dwarf delegation arrived around the time your dinner was sent, and they are to lay claim to you tomorrow." 

By his expression, they knew this to be a bad thing. There was silence for a long moment, finally broken by Thorin.

"If you can send a message to my cousin Dáin in the Iron Hills, tell him to look to Erebor for trouble." There was a whisper of amazement through the group that he had given their mission away. "And should you need help, the line of Durin is ever at your service."

Legolas stared, stunned to silence, and Thorin vaulted into one of the barrels.

As the rest followed, Kíli approached and held out a hand, open palmed to show friendship. "I would shoot with you again as equals."

"I look forward to it," Legolas answered, gripping his hand in return. He helped Kíli into a barrel, and turned to see Bifur looking at him. The older Dwarf pressed his fingers to his lips and scrambled into the last empty barrel.

"He thanks you too," Bilbo said, invisible among the barrels with their precious cargo.

Legolas was unsure how to answer the trust and friendship he'd been offered by this group of Dwarves who had been prisoner in his home for nearly two months. As carefully as he could, he lowered the barrels into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for an expression of amazing trust from Thorin?


	18. The Lonely Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company passes through Laketown and confronts a dragon.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when the barrels fetched up out of the river. Bilbo secured them so they wouldn't get dragged off again and started opening them. The freed Dwarves crawled away from the river, and most of them took a moment to throw up their dinner from the previous night.

Once they were steady in their feet, they emptied the barrels of supplies and pawed through them, dividing them up again. Kíli settled his leather tools back in his pockets and checked his knives for sharpness. It was only when Thorin pressed his clasp into his hand, brushing tangled hair back, that Kíli realized that Fíli was still searching for his own clasp.

He surged to his feet, making his way to Fíli's side with the desire to run. But his feet, in boots for the first time in months, felt too heavy to do anything but walk. Fíli looked up at his approach, and Kíli opened one hand to show the clasp Thorin had just returned to him.

"This one is mine," he said, and there were suddenly several sets of eyes on him. He pulled the other clasp from his pocket and held it out. "This one is yours, brother."

Fíli stared at him for a long moment, then pulled him in tight. Within moments, they had neatened one another's hair, setting the clasps back where they were meant to be.

"We can see the smoke of Laketown from here," Balin pointed out.

"They will be following as soon as it's discovered we're gone," Thorin answered. "I am loathe to stop and give them a chance to catch us."

"We need food," Balin argued. "And we have been wearing the same clothes for months."

"Clothes take time to make, and we do not have that. Nor do we have money."

"There are other ways to get things if you don't have money," Dori pointed out from his place next to his brothers, who he had not let go of since they had come ashore.

In the end they went to Laketown for food and information, splitting into trios for safety. None of them wanted to be alone, but a group of fourteen would do nothing but attract attention that they didn't want.

Kíli found himself with Dori and Bombur in the marketplace, haggling over the price of travel bread called cram. Bombur was the one who knew food, and Dori was a formidable haggler. Kíli felt himself unnecessary, and his attention wandered.

Two stalls down was a fletcher, and he was uncomfortably aware of the empty quiver on his back. Sparing a glance at the busy, older Dwarves, he moved to the other stall. By the time they had the food, he had a full quiver and five fewer beads in his pouch.

They passed Nori and Glóin on the way out of town, nodding to one another and taking note of full looking packs. Once they gathered back where the barrels had come ashore, food and clean clothes switched packs so that everyone had a share.

They decided to take another pause before moving on. Months of a bucket, cloth, and a moment of privacy once a week made them all eager to climb into the river and scrub themselves down. The ease with which the Dwarves helped one another, and the pleasure it gave them to be close and touching family and friends, made Bilbo blush scarlet, but when Ori and Óin offered him a hand getting his back and hair he didn't say no.

While they bathed and got into the fresh clothes that had been lent or stolen, they reported out on what they had seen and heard in the town. The Elves had increased the amount if food they bought, and almost tripled the amount of wine and ale that was shipped up the river. There had been smoke rising from the mountain, so some of them thought the dragon must still be alive. The fields in the dragon waste were starting to sprout again, so others thought it must be dead. With all the ravens, many of the children had picked up old songs about the King Under the Mountain and how his return would make the river run with gold.

There were Men of Dale in Laketown, and they had grown dissatisfied under the rule of the Master of the town. Thorin, Bilbo, and Balin had met the grandson of Girion, the last Lord of Dale. Balin recognized the look of Girion in the man named Bard, and the trio had approached him, looking for information. Considering the relations between Erebor and Dale, they had decided to trust him with their mission and troubles. Bard had given them old clothes that had belonged to his sons, and promised to follow with trustworthy men if he found out they were being hunted.

They didn't follow the road when they finally turned toward the mountain. They wanted as small a possibility if being found as they could get. They slept lightly and with their weapons to hand. They ate while walking. They stopped as rarely and for as short a time as possible.

When they stopped to rest, Kíli often found himself sitting back to back with Fíli. Once he woke to find that they had buried themselves against Dwalin's sides while the older Dwarf sat awake and watched over them. Kíli reached out and a strong hand wrapped around his own. He smiled and fell back asleep, feeling safe enough that he was actually rested when next he woke.

It was afternoon the fifth day out of the dungeons that they finally made it to the mountain. Bilbo's eyes were enormous and awed, Thorin had pride roughly carved into his face and stance. Kíli felt almost as amazed as Bilbo, looking up and up at this mountain that was his ancestral home. A hand fell roughly on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Thorin standing next to him with Fíli on his other side.

"We have come home, my nephews," he said, looking at the mountain and then at the two of them with the same pride. "And we will never be forced from it again. I will make sure that our people are safe."

"We must slay the dragon first," Balin pointed out. "And before that, we must find the door. And soon, because if Durin's Day comes this year it will be soon."

Thorin looked disgruntled at the reminder, and after one last look at the mountain, they climbed up onto the western face of the mountain.

Balin was correct about timing, as the next evening found them staring at a hole in the mountain that had the stink of dragon wafting out of it. This was Bilbo's job, and they looked over at the shaking burglar, and then at one another, and tried to think of how to spare him.

But just as Nori opened his mouth, Bilbo gave himself as shake and started walking through them toward the door. They all reached out to him, giving him words of comfort and courage. Kíli pressed one of his knives into the Halfling's hands. He had a sword now, but Kíli couldn't stop thinking about how Bilbo had approached the Trolls empty handed, and he couldn't allow it to happen again.

Bilbo smiled at him and signed his thanks, then turned and shared a look with Thorin, and then was gone. They watched after him, crowding the end of the passage and listening for sounds of his movement - sounds that were too soft for any of them to hear.

And they waited. They made no fires on the mountainside, but stayed awake waiting, listening, and watching for him. Kíli practiced his patience, as he did when Bifur was sick, and sat quietly. Fíli paced restlessly. Thorin stood looking down the tunnel, tense and waiting. Dwalin sat tending his axes, a task he knew so well he needed no light for it. Bifur looked out into the night, thinking things no other could imagine.

Ori sat at Kíli's side, leaning against his shoulder to share some kind of comfort. "They let me keep your note," he said, voice hardly more than a whisper. "It made Balin very happy, to see his brother's name on it."

"Do you think it made Dwalin happy?" Kíli asked, leaning into his friend and turning toward the sound of whetstone on metal.

"I'm sure it did."

Kíli turned toward Ori, voice lowering. "Do you think it would hurt Da if he saw it?"

One of Ori's arms slid around Kíli's waist and he leaned in closer, forehead knocking lightly against Kíli's. "I think he would see his name and not worry over trifles like if loving Dwalin means you don't love him."

Kíli leaned on him, breath harsh in his throat, and his friend held him close.

They waited for hours and wondered if Bilbo had been killed. Fíli stopped pacing and sat on Kíli's other side, Dwalin's whetstone went silent, Bifur sat with his cousins, and they all waited, watching the open door into the mountain.

The sky was brightening with the light of dawn when they heard a roar that could be nothing but the dragon. They all sprang to their feet, and Thorin was already down into the tunnel when the whirlwind of sound and fire that was Smaug flew out of the main gates on the southern face of the mountain.

"Thief! Thief! I will find you!" The words got closer, and the rest of them pressed close to the secret door.

"Kíli!"

The youngest Dwarf started and turned to where Bilbo was panting in Thorin's arms, feet not even on the ground.

"Kíli, his left breast. Just a few scales over the heart. Can you hit it?"

Kíli's eyes widened with the implication. He pulled his bow off his back and lowered his quiver to be more easily reached. The others made room for him and he moved to the edge, watching in the lightening sky for signs of the fiery death he was courting.

Dwalin and Bifur flanked him as he waited, and he took his eyes from the sky to look at each in turn. "You should go where it's safe," he told them.

"And leave you alone out here?" Dwalin demanded. Bifur merely shook his head.

A flush of gratitude filled him, and Kíli stood straighter, arrow on the string.

They didn't have long to wait, and as he pulled the string back to his ear, watching carefully for the spot Bilbo had told him of, Kíli felt both of his fathers move closer. A large, calming hand rested on his back, and Bifur whispered words of encouragement and cheer.

The shiver in his arm stilled and his breathing evened out. He turned his focus inwards. He was a hunter. He knew how to do this. Braced tall on his feet, comforted between two men who loved him, he took aim and let his arrow fly.


	19. The Quiet Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erebor is amazing.

The dragon's hoard was a glittering cavern of treasure that made everyone gape. There was a sea of gold and gems, and the walls were covered in weapons and armor. Even Thorin looked daunted by the scope of Erebor's treasure. They stood and stared, waiting for Thorin's first uncertain steps into the chamber to clamber in themselves.

Kíli turned this way and that, bending to sift his hands through the piles of gold. And all that ran through his fingers was more gold. It was dazzling, but not as much as the idea that he would never have to worry about his Da's health again. He would always be able to provide for him.

Nori was at another pile, sorting the precious items into two piles.

"What are you doing?" Kíli asked.

Nori looked up. "Some of this is never Dwarf work. Sorting it out for the Men of Dale when they return."

"Trust a thief to know workmanship," Dwalin rumbled from behind him.

But Nori's ears were good and he just tossed the warrior a cheeky smile. "Your own brother could do this just as well as me."

Dwalin grumbled something unintelligible and turned his attention to the weapons on the walls.

Kíli looked around to the rest of the company, curious what everyone's first instinct was when surrounded by gold as they were. He laughed to see Ori sitting on a pile with his notebook and pens out, sketching the chamber. Beyond him, Thorin was walking with Bilbo, picking up random items to look over before placing them reverently back into the piles.

His eyes lighted on Balin, examining armor at one wall. As if feeling the look, Balin glanced over and nodded. "Lads," he called. "Come over here."

The group congregated by him and Kíli found himself between Fíli and Ori.

"You must never think this is over because we are in the mountain," the old Dwarf told them. "We have limited food, unsure allies, and definite enemies. Much as we all hate the thought, this will come down to fighting, and there are few enough of us that we want anything we have."

He took down ornate armor and held it out to Fíli. "This was Thorin's, but he's had some growth since the dragon came. It should do well for you."

Fíli murmured thanks and looked at Thorin with shining eyes while Balin turned to Kíli. "Frerin was the slighter of the princes, and his armor should fit you well."

Kíli took the armor and leaned back against his Da, feeling overwhelmed.

"And you," Balin said, looking on Ori fondly. "If we had our way you'd never come near battle, but there are too few of us. This was mine, long ago, and if it should give you the protection it gave me I will have cause to thank the armorer."

"Thank you, Mister Balin," Ori answered with a pleased blush.

Balin smiled at him and turned to Thorin, who shook his head. "I will not, Balin. I will not wear it."

The old Dwarf looked sympathetic and held out something that Thorin obviously was not expecting. "The armor of Fundin will help neither of his sons. We all three would be honored if you used it."

Thorin's eyes widened and he glanced over at Dwalin. The warrior nodded at him, and Thorin accepted the offer with a deep bow. Balin continued choosing armor for the company while Dwalin made sure their weapons were ready to see battle.

Before the morning was out, they had all tired of the glow of the treasure, even Nori. Balin led them in exploring, first going down into the mountain where the workshops and the entries to the mines were. Then they climbed up through paths that sometimes had windows to the outside, and he named the streets and showed them the markets and the homes.

The scale of everything made Kíli draw closer to his companions. Even the small homes they entered were larger than what he had grown up in. Balin explained that they were meant to house several generations of Dwarves together, and stated with pride that ther had been few truly poor Dwarves in Erebor before the dragon. If he noticed Kíli looking down in shame, he pretended not to.

By mid afternoon, they reached the royal chambers, and there they split up. Thorin insisted on showing his nephews his rooms, searching with them for the remains of finery and personal treasures. He found a box of hair beads and clasps, and sat Kíli down on the floor to plait his hair. There were four braids when he was done, one above and one behind each ear, the image of his own or Fíli's.

Kíli ran his fingers over the braids and examined the finely worked beads before looking up and smiling at Thorin. Thorin's responding smile was full of pride, and Kíli could feel himself slowly shrinking back away from it. Within moments, he was on his feet and running from the room, leaving Fíli and Thorin confused behind him.

He wished he could hide, but he didn't know where the hiding places were. And the mountain was so big that he was afraid even Bombur would be unable to find him. Instead, he went looking for his uncle. He found him in the kitchen, examining the oven and the old dishes and pots.

Bombur looked up as he entered, took in the distress in his expression and the shiver in his limbs, and opened his arms. "What's wrong, lad?" he asked as Kíli buried himself against his chest.

"I don't know," Kíli answered, voice muffled as he clung to Bombur's shirt. "I feel like every moment I'm in this mountain I'm being taken away from you."

"You've found your family now," Bombur said softly, trailing a finger over the new braids.

Kíli shook his head hard. "You're all the family I ever needed. You and Da and uncle Bofur. None of this means anything if I lose you."

Bombur huffed a laugh and ran his hand down Kíli's back. "If we survive this, lad, I'll bake you a pie all to yourself. Until then...." He sat Kíli on a granite counter and unraveled the braid behind his right ear, replaiting it in a different style and finishing it with the same bead.

Kíli clung to it. "You never gave me braids before."

"You were never ours to keep," Bombur said softly, kissing his brow. "We've none of us had much rest in the last week. Help me make some dinner so we can sleep well tonight and be ready for whatever tomorrow brings."

Kíli nodded and helped put together a pot of soup, using jerky and dried vegetables Bombur had gotten in Laketown. They didn't talk much, but Bombur saw how Kíli would run his hands over the braids as he worked, and how he would pause on the one different one, and he knew he had done the right thing.

Balin was the first to follow his nose to the kitchen, and he paused in the entry, watching them work together. "A dragon slayer and a cook?" he said after a moment. "That's a rare combination."

Kíli turned, new braids swinging around his head. Balin saw the different one instantly, and Bombur glared at him as if daring him to say anything. Instead, Balin stepped forward, fingers running over the braid behind Kíli's left ear, unraveling it and replacing it with one that was very similar.

"And now your full heritage is represented," he said gravely, and was rewarded with a smile.

"Dwalin said he wouldn't take me from my Da," Kíli asked hesitantly. "No one else will?"

"If they tried, they would have to get through Dwalin," Balin answered, and it was enough.

Thorin made no comment on Kíli's braids, or on the fact that he settled in between Balin and Bombur. And for all the danger awaiting them, he slept peacefully that night.


	20. Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone fights everyone else.

They were all in the treasure chamber again. Fíli had finally gotten swords for both Ori and Kíli, pleased to not have to give them his to practice with, as they had on the journey. Neither seemed overly comfortable with the weapons, but they knew that they needed weapons more suited for battle than what they had.

The screaming started midmorning and let them know that the air vents and the vents that passed sound were still in working order after all the years of dragon occupation.

"Thorin, son of Thráin! I command you to come and face your punishment! Ginnar, son of Yngvi, of the White Mountains commands the thief and murderer come forth!"

Dwalin growled at the words and Thorin put a hand on his arm. "You'll never get him to believe we didn't kill Lofar, and as far as he's concerned we stole Dís and Fíli," he said, voice low but still carrying.

He looked up as the company drew closer together. "Balin, come with me. The rest of you, prepare for war."

Bilbo went with him when he walked away. The rest began to pull on armor and warm up in earnest. Kíli and Fíli followed at a distance, wanting to see what happened and what they were up against. They climbed high onto one side of the broken gates, fitting into an archer's niche where they could look down without being seen.

The force on the southern slope of the mountain was not vast, but with fourteen defenders it didn't have to be. It was a mixed group: Dwarves in the matching armor of a unit, Elves with bows and swords at their sides, and a group of poorly armed and armored Men who had to be from Laketown. Few enough. Less than two hundred all together. But more than enough for the group in the mountain.

Except Kíli saw Men in the small amount of cover afforded by broken statues and rocks, and they were glaring at the force in the open, not up at the mountain. And Fíli pointed to a line of Dwarves nearing, coming from the northeast where the Iron Hills were. So there was a chance, and they gripped one another's hands hard.

They had missed the start of an argument between Thorin and this Ginnar, but as they looked down they were pleased and proud to find that their uncle had remained stoic and calm while Ginnar was red faced and losing the respect of even his own allies. Indeed, Thranduil was looking down at him with distaste, and the leader of the Men was subtly moving back away from them.

"You have one hour, son of Thráin! And if any of your followers want to live once I have taken these halls, they will give you and all your kin to me before that time is out!"

Kíli and Fíli scrambled down from their perch, meeting Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo as they re entered the mountain. "Dáin is nearly here, and we saw Men who I think are on our side," Kíli said.

"And Legolas was in the ranks of Elves," Bilbo put in. "We can't assume he will go against his father, but we can hope he doesn't mean to do us harm."

Thorin took a deep breath. "We can hope all we want, but it is the work of our own hands to keep us alive." He gestured up at the archer's niche. "Kíli, spend all your arrows before you come into the fight. And we will leave Ori up there with his slingshot. Not a weapon of war, but gravity will be in his favor."

He took hold of both of his nephews in a fierce embrace. "Come. Who knows what will happen in an hour? It is time to say our farewells."

It was a confusing battle, not the least because it was almost impossible to remember who was friend and who was foe. Dáin's soldiers had different armor than Ginnar's, but that required stopping in the middle of a fight to recognize uniforms. The Elves all wore the same, whether they were actively fighting Thorin's company or not. And the Men had no uniforms at all.

From the archer's niche it had been easier. Kíli could take time to choose his targets from the Dwarves of the White Mountains, and not worry about Men or Elves at all. But once he was out of arrows, he was down in the melee and there was no time to think.

He slid down to the ground and let a pair of Men gut one another. He hamstrung an Elf going after his Da while he was down there. And as he did that, Nori skewered a Dwarf coming up behind him. He saw a Dwarf - a foe-Dwarf - going after Legolas and leapt on him savagely.

It seemed all at once to be hours and hours and no time at all. All Kíli knew was that he was covered in gore, some of it his own, and everyone he cared about was still among the living when he saw them.

It was past midday when Thranduil suddenly pressed both hands to his head, cried out wildly, and collapsed. This momentarily stopped the battle, as all Elves crowded their king and Men and Dwarves stared in confusion.

"All free peoples to me!" cried a familiar voice, and Kíli looked up to see Gandalf. "Orcs on Wargs are coming, and all free people must band together against them."

There was panic all around him, and Kíli felt himself tense.

"I will fight as brothers with all here," Thorin said from one side of the battle, Dáin echoing his words.

"And I," Legolas said instantly, crouched and holding his father. "For the honor of Thranduil, Elves of the Greenwood fight the Orcs."

"And Men," called one who had been pushed forward as spokesman. "Bard and the Men of Laketown will join any who oppose Orcs."

Kíli saw the one who stayed silent, but before any could draw attention to Ginnar of the White Mountains, the Orcs were among them. The battle was fiercer this time, though everyone seemed to be on the same side against the Orcs. Kíli fought next to Men he would have been fighting against earlier in the day, and called off thanks to an Elf who dropped a Warg just before it got him.

They fought desperately, falling back in some places, pressing forward in others. Kíli saw a Dwarf in White Mountain armor slice an Orc in half and breathed easier, knowing they were all together. Then another White Mountain Dwarf stabbed an Elf, saving an Orc, and Kíli was frightened again. He looked around, and it seemed like Men and Elves were at the edges of the battle and all around him were Dwarves.

Even knowing they were still the enemy, Kíli couldn't help but feel safe surrounded by Dwarves. And when he heard one call out the name of Thorin Oakenshield, he just looked up to see that his uncle was safe. But his uncle wasn't there, and the Dwarf behind Fíli had his sword facing in the wrong direction to be an ally.

Kíli screamed defiance as the sword moved, and raced to put himself between his brother and unseen death. Fíli caught him as he fell, blood dripping from his side. He pushed himself back up to his feet as Thorin appeared, snarling at the enemy Dwarf.

"It's me you want, Ginnar son of Yngvi. Coward! Face me!"

Ginnar's answering growl was cut off. As they watched, a twisted piece of metal pushed through his chest. He looked up with wide, glazing eyes to see Azog sneering down at him. The Orc threw the corpse of the Dwarf king aside and looked down at Thorin from the back of his Warg.

"No, son of Thráin. You face me." Azog's voice was as deep and terrible in Westron as it was in the Orc language.

But Thorin was wavering. It had been a long battle, against enemies that were hard to tell from allies. The difficulty in telling friend from foe had caused many of them to have more wounds than was good for them, and Thorin insisted on being in the middle of everything and had more wounds than most. There was no way he would survive a fight with Azog.

Kíli gritted his teeth and leapt, dropping his sword for a more familiar knife. Fíli howled at him and followed, stabbing through the Warg's eye and into it's brain. Azog, all attention on Thorin, startled at the pair of young Dwarves approaching him. And Thorin, using their distraction as cover, beheaded the leader of the Orcs.

Kíli stumbled on landing, legs giving out under him so he rolled downhill, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Fíli caught him before he went too far, and Kíli looked up at the worried face, sight dimming around the edges and too bright in the center.

"You idiot. What were you doing?"

Kíli smiled at him. "You're safe. Thorin is safe." Anything else he might have said was choked off by his body screaming at him in pain. It hurt worse than getting buffeted down a river in a barrel, more than getting grabbed by Trolls, more than being hit by his Da.

He coughed and it hurt more than his chest had hurt when he had pneumonia. And he recognized the way Fíli was calling his name. It was the way Bofur had called him then, when they had all thought he was dying.

Perhaps this time he was, he thought as the blackness engulfed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I-- I am so sorry....
> 
> Those of you with promises, I swear that they still stand.


	21. The Healing Tent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which healing starts.

The first time he woke it was dark. There was little air movement, so he guessed he had to be inside. He could smell the fires and death around him, although it was obvious that someone was trying to clean the area as well. His body was dull aches all over, a pulsing throb that matched his heartbeat. But he could wiggle all his fingers and toes, even when it sent sharp stabbing pain up one arm, which meant that he had all of them. And around him he heard breathing of other living beings, and in the distance someone sang.

The second time he woke, he felt a hand in his hair. Loss of blood and whatever he had been given to dull the pain made him lightheaded, so he couldn't turn to see who it was. He moved his eyes only, seeing the farther parts of the tent and examining the people in it. He whispered names, and the touch on his head stilled.

"Kíli?" The voice was his Da's. The older Dwarf leaned down into view, and Kíli tried to smile at him.

"Da," he whispered, voice scrapingly dry.

He felt hands under his shoulders and he was carefully lifted so his head was in Bifur's lap and he was a little upright. Even without doing any work himself, the effort left him gasping and he knew just how close he had come to death. There was a touch to his lips, and he automatically opened them to let his Da drizzle cool, clear water slowly into his mouth.

Even the effort of swallowing was tiring, and he got very little before he closed his mouth and turned slightly into his Da's side. "How am I?" he asked.

"We almost lost you," came the answer from one side in Bofur's voice. "You've a broken arm, a concussion, enough cuts and bruises that by rights you should be one big scar, and you've lost enough blood to fuel another body." A hand smoothed back his hair, and he felt a kiss to his temple. "You scared us, lad. Scared us clean out of our wits."

Kíli murmured apologies. "Fíli?"

There was a huff of a laugh, and his good hand was brought to tangle in soft braids. "The healers aren't sure he'll see out of his left eye again, but he's better than you."

He would have nodded understanding if he could move on his own. "Thorin?"

The long pause made his eyes snap open again. "Thorin?" he demanded, voice louder.

"Time will tell," Bofur answered, shushing him. "Everyone on the field was after him. By the end he was holding himself upright through adrenaline and pride. Collapsed right after letting the Orcs know their leader was dead. We found Fíli holding the both of you, crying like he'd never stop."

"Where is he?"

"He's here near you, and you're not to move for at least three weeks according to Óin and the healer that Elf prince brought with him."

"Here?"

"She said that people heal better surrounded by loved ones." This time the voice was Fíli. A hand took his own, pressing it to a cheek rough with stubble. "The company are all here tending each other."

"I want--"

"You want more rest," Bofur answered, cutting him off. "And to follow the healers' directions to the letter so you recover fully."

"Yes, uncle," he murmured. And despite the questions he still had, it took him no time to drift back into sleep.

The third time he woke, there were voices all around him. There was the warmth of a fire, and the good smell of food, and the hand in his hair was too large to belong to anyone but Dwalin.

"I'm hungry," he whispered, and all talking stopped. He opened his eyes in concern, then smiled at the faces looking down at him. Three of them helped prop him up enough to eat, and he was pleased to find that he wasn't as weak has he had been.

"How long has it been?" he asked as a mug of something hot and fragrant was pressed into his good hand.

"Nearly a week," Dwalin answered, and Kíli was glad he hadn't started to drink because he would have choked on it. "Thorin hasn't woken at all yet."

From his semi seated position, Kíli was able to turn his head and see the whole tent. Thorin was a few pallets away, pale and drawn and quiet. Bilbo was on one side, tightly holding his hand, and Balin on the other. Both smiled tiredly at Kíli when they saw him looking.

He let his eyes roam the rest of the tent. Bombur smiled at him from the fire, and gestured that he should drink. He did so, and the hot, meaty broth, tasting strongly of garlic and marrow, was the best thing he had ever eaten.

Bofur was next to his brother, and when he caught Kíli's eye he lifted his pipe. He played softly, the sweet, soothing melody he always played when Kíli was sick. Kíli smiled at him as he drank his broth, leaning back against Dwalin and wishing his father would pet him again. He caught the flicker of a sign from Bombur, not enough to read it, and a warm, calloused hand smoothed his hair down.

He let his eyes drop at the security of the fire and the warmth around him, and saw that Fíli and Bifur were asleep on either side of him. He could see the bandages around Fíli's head, and how worn his Da looked, even in sleep.

"They'll neither of them leave your side," Dwalin said softly, his voice rumbling through Kíli's body. "And we only just got Bifur to sleep. He's been awake for days watching over you."

"How has he been?" Kíli asked, wishing that he could move his other hand to touch his Da or his brother.

"That medicine from the Elves works fine," Bombur answered, exchanging the mug if broth for a mug of tea that Kíli dutifully drank. "He's been calm and in his head the whole time."

Kíli smiled serenely as he was lowered flat again. It had all been worth it if his Da could remain himself. As Bombur took the mugs away, Kíli reached out and snagged Dwalin's sleeve. "Story?" He requested, eyes already dropping from the medicine in the tea.

For the second time, he fell asleep to the murmur of his father's voice.

The next time he woke feeling like there was some big difference around him. He opened his eyes to see platinum hair falling around him and the scent of forest in his nose, and smiled up at Legolas.

"He's awake," the Elf called over his shoulder. He carefully lifted Kíli into a sitting position, sitting cross legged behind to support him. "How are you feeling?"

"Cold."

"I'll build the fire up!" Ori called.

"Hungry."

He heard Bombur's rolling laughter. "Just let me heat the soup, and we'll fill you up."

While they waited, he demanded to know what had been happening while he was in healing sleep. The battle field had been cleaned - bodies collected and put to honorable rest, Wargs and Orc burned. Crews from the Iron Hills and other nearby Dwarf homes had come to aid in fixing Erebor for residence. Balin was overseeing everything from the distribution and inventory of the treasure to the cleaning of homes and workshops to the disposal of the dragon.

"He has put aside a sizable portion of the scales, claws, and teeth for you," Legolas said. "Is it true that you were the one to kill it?"

Kíli leaned back to smile up at him. "You couldn't have made the shot," he declared.

Legolas threw his head back and laughed, a thing he obviously hadn't done in a long time by the almost hysterical cast to it.

The sound made Thorin tense and turn on his pallet, and Bilbo's softly spoken "Thorin" drew all the attention. Eyes still shut, Thorin murmured something that made Bilbo cling tighter to his hand and give a hastily covered sob. "The Halfling is fine, brother," he answered.

That seemed to be all Thorin wanted to hear, because he subsided back into sleep. The rest of them were subdued after that, and Kíli felt himself pulled closer into Legolas' arms. He looked up again.

"Your father?"

"Is more himself than he has been in years. Mithrandir says the White Council drove a Necromancer from Dol Guldur. He thinks that has helped."

"I'm glad," Kíli answered, putting his good hand on his friend's arm.

Legolas didn't stay much longer, and when he lay Kíli carefully back down, Fíli drew his brother into his arms. Kíli sighed happily and snuggled close.

"You're an idiot," was the first thing that Fíli said to him, and Kíli looked up wide eyed and pouted at him. "You nearly got yourself killed."

"He would have killed you if I hadn't," Kíli whispered back fiercely. "You just found me. I'm not going to lose you."

"And you think I can lose you? I spent years thinking you were born dead. Kíli, don't you dare do that again."

Kíli pressed his head to his brother's. "Don't be in danger of death and I won't save your life," he said softly.

Fíli pulled him closer, and Kíli twisted his good hand into Fíli's shirt. Together, they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think from here we're going to probably cut to moving back into Erebor. Any requests I will put into the prompt list for sides.
> 
> There also might be cookies available for those who can figure out what Thorin said when he didn't quite wake up. Didn't try to make it hard, so I'm hoping you all get it.


	22. Dwarves of Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erebor is fit to live in.

They were finally moving into Erebor. And none too soon, as the cold was blowing in from the north and promising snow soon. Thorin led the procession on a litter carried by two of the warriors left behind by Dáin. They had sworn allegiance to Thorin without a thought, as their families had been Erebor born and they felt like they were coming home.

Thorin didn't like it, of course, but the healers were barely letting him stand on his own. The climb into the mountain was not one he'd be making on his own feet for months. He gritted his teeth and endured it.

Kíli had been offered a litter as well, but he wasn't as important as Thorin. His Da was able to carry him up, and Kíli heartily agreed to that over being flat on his back. He snuggled against Bifur's back, good arm curled around his Da's shoulders to hang on.

Everyone in the company was at the beginning of the line of Dwarves. Dwalin, Balin, and Fíli walked with Thorin's litter, followed by Óin, Glóin, Dori, Nori, and Ori, and Kíli's family was at the rear. After them came the soldiers and workers who had flocked to the reclaimed city. Kíli looked around as they walked, resting on Bifur's back and listening to Bofur and Bombur tell him about everything they were passing.

The gates had been fixed and stood open. The debris from the fallen statues was gone. Light shone into the front hallways that led to the throne room, crystals catching the light and throwing it ever farther into the mountain. It was grand, and glorious, and a far cry from the dragon smelling mess he had seen weeks earlier.

The litter bearers set Thorin down in front of the throne and stepped away. Thorin pushed himself to his feet and sat in the throne, and if anyone noticed how heavily he sat and how fast his breathing was, it did nothing to dim the cheers. Bifur let Kíli slip down to stand on his own, keeping an arm around his waist to help steady him.

Thorin looked down at the company, who stood in front of everyone else to see Thorin on the throne they had won for him. Kíli beamed up at him, glad to be on his feet, glad Thorin was able to be on his, glad that they were all alive and together. He saw Thorin's lips quirk into an answering smile, but it was quickly pulled into a serious expression as Thorin addressed the crowd.

"Dwarves of Erebor," he said, and his voice was low but carried through the hall, making everyone feel personally connected to the King Under the Mountain. "We are home." There was a cheer, and he waited for it to die down.

"We are in our own halls, and nothing will drive us away again. We are home!" His voice rose to a roar, and it was echoed from all corners of the hall, every Dwarf adding voice to it.

"We are here because a small band of Dwarves and a single Hobbit came at my summons and a braved danger and dragon to return us here. They are not all noble. They are not all Erebor born. But they will be accorded the highest honor, and hold positions of the greatest respect we can give them. I present them to you now."

He held out his hands, and the second row of Dwarves pushed the company forward to stand with their king. Kíli stayed close to his Da's side while the crowd roared their approval of the group that had won a home back from a dragon.

Thorin reached his hands out left and right and pulled Fíli and Kíli closer to him. "It is my honor and my pleasure to present to you the sons of Dís, my sister-sons. Fíli is the heir to this kingdom, and Kíli slew the dragon Smaug!"

The words were said with pride, and the reaction from the crowd was positive, but Kíli felt nothing but panic. He stood straight and held his head high, but wanted nothing more than to run and hide behind Bombur. Because what were Thorin's expectations? Once again, the youth wondered if he would be torn from his family.

There was little else for Thorin to say, and he stood to more cheering. Kíli saw his uncle sway and moved a step closer to put his good arm around him. Thorin wrapped one arm around Kíli's shoulders, giving a light squeeze of gratitude, and pulled Fíli close on the other side.

Slowly, carefully, the trio walked down the steps from the throne and through the throng of Dwarves. The feasting hall was just next door, and the two princes made sure that their king made it to the high table on his own feet. He was too winded to speak, and made an impatient gesture to Fíli.

"Join us," Fíli said, voice ringing clear through the noise of the moving crowd. "Tonight we drink to Erebor!"

There was a last cheer, and everyone found seats at the long feasting tables. Bombur passed the high table on his way to the kitchens with the other cooks and pressed Kíli down into the seat to Thorin's left.

The hall was soon filled with the sound of eating and chatter that built into a wall of sound. Kíli heard his own name many times, paired with Fíli's and Thorin's, or paired with the name of Durin. His stomach turned sour every time, and had he not been almost as exhausted as Thorin, he might have made a break for the kitchens where Bombur was.

Bombur himself came out near the end of the feast, placing a plate redolent of apples and cinnamon in front of Kíli. Kíli lifted his eyes to his uncle, remembering the promise of pie and what it meant. The older Dwarf tucked his braids back and handed him a fork, smile tender.

That helped him set aside his worries for a while. And though the pie was all for him, he slid a slice across Thorin to Fíli, who grinned thanks at him. The flaky crust and soft apples soothed the places in his belly that were upset at the noise and words of others.

Óin urged him to bed to rest not long after he finished the pie, and he was more than happy to follow the instruction. Bifur saw him up and moving and followed, drawing typical speculation. They wondered what had happened to him, how he was affected by the axe still in his skull. And when they saw him with Kíli, a very vocal group protested that he couldn't be safe around the young prince, and the line of Durin should do more to protect its own from dangerous outsiders.

Kíli flinched, but his Da's hand was warm on his shoulder, comforting and leading him away. They were quiet as they made their way to the home they had been given, a home that could fit their old home in one room. When they were alone and the world shut away behind closed doors, he gave vent to his frustrations in a half controlled shriek.

"I hate it, Da!" he exclaimed. "They say those things about you like you can't understand them! They speak like they know everything about you because of the axe! About me because of Durin!" He paced, one hand tightening into a fist, the other one loose at the end of the cast on his arm. "I hate it! They'll hear I live here and want to move me away. Want to make it so I never see you again."

"Kíli."

"I won't let that happen, Da! I won't!"

"Kíli!"

"I won't be taken from you like--"

Bifur put his hands on Kíli's shoulders, quieting him and holding him in place. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Golus me Ríl. Golus me Onur."

Kíli shivered. It was the first time he had heard their names from his Da. He opened his mouth to try and stop whatever revelation this was supposed to be, because even thinking of them had always been so hard.

The words were somehow too formal, too permanent, and Bifur retreated to iglishmêk for the next part. _No matter how many Orcs I kill, they will still be dead._

"Da," Kíli whispered helplessly, and Bifur pressed a hand over his mouth lightly to quiet him.

"Bikhaím ikh," he said, voice lowering confidentially for the two of them. And suddenly Kíli wasn't as worried, because he had never heard Bifur affirm his own life so clearly before. "Bikhaím me Kíli."

Kíli's eyes widened as Bifur ran his palm lovingly down one of Kíli's cheeks. "Me skhone bíkhor."

Kíli clung to his Da, sobbing. It was a while before they could continue, using silent iglishmêk because they were both too choked up to speak.

_Onur will always be mine. Even though he's been dead longer than you have lived, he is my beloved firstborn son. And you are mine, child, and you always will be. You are Kíli, son of Dís and Dwalin, of the line of Durin._

Kíli shook his head, the beads in his braids clicking together.

_You are also Kíli, son of Bifur, of a line of no consequence. If people wish to see the importance of Durin in you, let them._

"No, Da, I--"

_They can't take you from me. Stop your fretting._

Kíli clung as tightly as he could with one hand, and Bifur's arms gathered him close and rocked him like a child.

"Zu ikh zâya," he whispered, pressing a kiss into dark hair.

Kíli sobbed once, burying his face in Bifur's shoulder. "I love you too, Da."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been pointed out that my Khuzdul is not always easy to translate. Here are the translations.
> 
> "Golus me Ríl." "My Ríl (made up dead wife) is dead."  
> "Golus me Onur." "My Onur (made up dead son) is dead."  
> "Bikhaím ikh." "I am alive."  
> "Bikhaím me Kíli." "My Kíli is alive."  
> "Me skhone bíkhor." "My beautiful son."  
> "Zu ikh zâya." "I love you."


	23. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they have their first morning under the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is something like 4 pages of the relationships between several of the Dwarves. Over breakfast. And lovingly described tea (although sadly not a specific tea).
> 
> I am apparently a Hobbit when it comes to food.

They had all ended up in the same bedroom. Kíli knew it even before he opened his eyes, because the sounds of his Da and uncles sleeping was a familiar reminder of childhood. He slipped out of bed, amazed at the fact that even in the middle of a mountain it wasn't completely black inside their homes.

Grabbing his clothes and boots, he eased into the next room, routine familiar as breathing. He paused to slip into trousers and tunic, awkward around the cast on his left arm, but continued to carry his boots as he left their new home.

The ground felt foreign; hard, cold, and rocky under his bare feet. He looked around under the faint crystal light and saw no one else awake. He kept his boots in his hand. Even with thick stone walls, he was wary of disturbing others.

Kíli had a good sense of direction, and he remembered how to get back to the feasting halls. He had always stirred up the fire and started water boiling for tea before he left in the morning. It was harder here, where the food had all been piled in the communal kitchens for the sake of record keeping when they were just starting to rebuild.

The kitchen was warm with the banked heat of the hearth and the ovens. Kíli dropped his boots in the doorway and grabbed a poker, balancing on the balls of his feet to bring the fire in the hearth back to life. He smiled at the cheery thing, then turned to the huge pantries to find something to start for breakfast.

It took time, with the cast restricting his movement, but he filled a kettle with water and set it on one of the hooks in the hearth. With rather more time and cursing, a large cauldron of porridge was started as well. The kettle was singing by then, but Kíli had to rest. He slid down the wall, head between his knees, breathing heavily.

He was unaware of anyone else until he heard a voice in the doorway.

"Hello? Is anyone-- Kíli! Are you all right?" Ori dashed over, crouching at his friend's side. "Should I--"

Kíli reached out whip fast and took Ori's arm before he could fully rise. "Don't. If I can't even make breakfast they'll put me back on bed rest and I've been flat on my back for three weeks already." He looked up pleadingly. "Just give me a moment."

Ori shook his head fondly. "At least let me make the tea. The kettle can't be helping any."

Indeed, once the noise stopped Kíli felt like he could breathe easier. Sitting back and watching Ori confidently brewing the tea and stirring the porridge also helped. Kíli smiled at him, stretching out his legs and leaning his head back against the wall.

The tea had a rich, soothing scent that seeped into the room and seemed to settle around their shoulders in a welcome weight. Kíli, used to nothing but hot, bitter, black tea, breathed in deeply and then sighed appreciatively.

Ori smiled at him, checking the pot and removing the tea strainer. "It's one of Dori's favorites. Expensive, though. Nori nicks it for him sometimes, and I saved my pocket money for months to get him a good store of it for his birthday. Now that we're here, he doesn't have to brew it so thin it's almost water."

And there again was the value of gold. Medicines for his Da, tea for his friend's brother. Gold was worth what it could get you, and piling it up never got anyone anything that they loved.

"What are you going to do now that it's over," Kíli asked, accepting a mug and sipping gently. The taste was as rich as the scent, spreading like sunlight through his mouth and down his throat.

"Well, I've the tale to finish," Ori answered, scooping out bowls of porridge for them and topping them with cream and cinnamon. "That's my masterpiece, you know. And then there are the old sagas to recover. I expect I'll spend a lot of time in the archives and with returning musicians and storytellers. Nori is going to be Thorin's spymaster. He has enough contacts for it, and they're the kind to hear things no one wants them to. And there must be plenty like him he can recruit."

Ori helped Kíli to his feet, leading him to a small table at the side of the kitchen - a place for cooks to have their meal while preparing and serving at the feasting hall. "Dori?" he continued with a smile. "Old, fussy Dori with his love of fine things. You know, I think he'll start a school. He taught Nori, for all he was young himself when the dragon came, and he made sure I had tutors, even when he went hungry to pay the fees."

The way he said it was so simple, and Kíli envied that. "Uncle Bombur's already been offered the kitchens as his own kingdom," he offered in exchange. "And uncle Bofur is going to help explore and reopen the mines. But Da and me... I don't know what we're going to do, Ori."

Ori looked at him for a long moment before putting down his spoon and laying a hand on Kíli's shoulder. "Kíli," he said slowly. "You're the younger prince, and the slayer of the dragon. There is nothing more you need to do."

Kíli stared and shook his head. "I can't live like that!"

Ori smiled and shook his head. "I have a present for you," he said, changing the subject. He pulled a leather cord from a pocket and passed it to Kíli.

A circle of iridescent red hung from the end of it, silver work glinting in the firelight. It was obviously one of Smaug's scales, a knot work dragon inlaid in silver on it. He gaped up at Ori, who smiled back at him, pleased.

"I designed it," he said. "Dori did the silver work. He melted an ugly chalice. Said he was keeping the jewels for something actually well made."

"Ori... You shouldn't have! I have nothing to give you that can match this!"

At that, Ori tipped his head back and laughed. "You slew a dragon and gave me a home," he pointed out. "You killed it with one shot and ensured that the tale will be remembered forever! A foundling discovered to be of the line of Durin on the journey.... Kíli, half of the story is about you!"

Kíli felt his cheeks heat. Before he could answer, a voice spoke up from behind.

"What did you do to get my brother's face that interesting shade of pink, Master Ori?"

The pair turned to see that ten new Dwarves had entered the kitchen - all three of their brothers and several they didn't know. Dori poured out tea, nodding his approval, while one of the others ladled out porridge. The unfamiliar Dwarves looked at the group of brothers and took their breakfasts out into the cold of the feasting hall.

Fíli leaned on the back of Kíli's chair, and Kíli closed his eyes, leaning back into the warmth of his brother. "Where did you get that?"

Kíli opened one eye, then raised the pendant for inspection. "Ori gave it to me."

"It looks like dragon scale. Where did you get it?" Fíli asked.

"Nicked it from the pile," Dori answered, giving Fíli a cup of tea and sending a sharp look at his other brother.

Nori, far from looking contrite, seemed impressed. "Those piles were well guarded." Dori just glared at him, and Nori sat down with his porridge, knocked against Ori's shoulder and whispered "good job."

Fíli dropped into the seat next to Kíli and slipped the pendant over his brother's head before starting on his own breakfast. Dori was the last to the table, refilling everyone's tea before he sat. He sipped lightly, smiling at the obvious pleasure Kíli took in the gift.

"I thought we were going to make a grand presentation to the dragon slayer," he commented.

Ori shook his head. "Kíli wouldn't like something like that," he answered, winking at his friend. "He's too busy being worried about what he'll do with his life now."

There was enough staring that Kíli felt his blush return and dropped his head, darting a glare at Ori.

"You do whatever you want, lounge around, and eat off gold," Nori said, voice rich with amusement. "Isn't that what princes do?"

"I never have," Fíli pointed out.

"Ah, well you were born in exile. We'll have to ask Thorin."

Kíli looked up in alarm, because it was Nori and he just might. He wasn't exactly pleased at the laughter that erupted, but at least it seemed to mean that there would be no questions to Thorin.

"Just stick to your leather and fur, lad," Dori assured him, still savoring his tea. "You love it and you're good at it."  
"How do you know he's good at it?" Fíli asked curiously.

Dori gestured. "The things they wear must be his work. And not the best, because the best commands a higher price." He glanced at Kíli, who nodded. "And Thorin isn't as subtle as he thinks. I was glad to learn your relationship, because his expression when he looked at you and touched the fur of his coat was worrying me."

They pondered the implications a moment before eyes widened. Dori continued sipping his tea, not adding or explaining anything. Before Kíli could even think of something to say, there was another new entry to the kitchen.

"What are you doing in here?" Dwalin marched across the large room and harried them to their feet, arm around Kíli and directing the rest into the feasting hall with a nod of his head and a glare.

It was quite crowded, and Kíli wondered how long it had taken him to get things set up. Thorin was at the high table watching them. He caught Kíli's eye and nodded at the seat next to him. Kíli dropped into it and grabbed at Dwalin's sleeve until his father sat next to him.

"Where are your boots?"

Kíli's toes curled into the stone floor. "In the kitchen. I didn't want to wake anyone."

Thorin's brows raised. "How early were you up?"

The youth shrugged uneasily. "I don't know how to tell without the sun."

Thorin reached out and gripped his hand. "We will teach you," he said, voice warm.

Kíli relaxed, face blossoming into a smile. He turned to hold Thorin's hand in return. "Yes, uncle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image used for Kíli's pendant:  
> http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRyKpyq8_h8mVzVRF0vPliDEzgd-WffPNOTB_6qwMaBJbs4u347


	24. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time passes and things get easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I haven't fallen off the face of the planet. Things have just been busy this week.

Kíli wanted to help with the work that was being done to fix Erebor, but between the broken arm and almost dying he wasn't allowed. At least he wasn't the only one prohibited from heavy work. Thorin had come closer to death than he had, Fíli still had trouble telling distances because of the near loss of his eye, and Dwalin also had a broken arm. Balin forced Thorin to content himself with coordinating and directing the efforts, with Fíli near him. Dwalin managed to help out despite every effort. And Kíli ran messages and errands for any who would let him.

They had their classes as well, as time allowed. Whenever groups of people were together without other jobs, learning broke out. They learned how to tell time underground. They learned Khuzdul and iglishmêk. They learned the history of Erebor, Arda, and the Dwarves. They learned about Durin and the other Fathers, about Khazad-Dûm, about the rituals that had fallen by the wayside in exile. Everyone was a teacher, everyone was a student, and everyone relied on everyone else.

It was exhilarating to Kíli. It was winter and he had no worries. They were safe in the mountain - they wouldn't become trapped. There was enough food. There was work to keep them from going stir crazy. There were enough others so they wouldn't drive one another mad. It was the most amazing winter he'd ever had.

The day of the Solstice, Kíli and Dwalin both had their casts removed. Óin checked their arms and nodded satisfaction. As he packed his supplies, he talked to Dwalin.

"My assistants and I are still very busy. You've broken your arm so many times you have to be better than I am at the exercises. Help Kíli with them as well. A good month, mind you. At least an hour a day. And be careful with your workload. The last thing you need is to damage the muscles now that the bone has knitted."

They met the next morning before breakfast. Kíli wasn't sure what he expected the exercises to be, but he didn't expect Dwalin to step in close behind him and press his own arm lightly to Kíli's. His large hand covered Kíli's, and he gently closed their fingers together into a fist.

"Open your hand," he instructed, and Kíli pressed slowly against his father's fingers.

Dwalin led him slowly through bending and twisting, extending the arm and pulling it back. They worked for the given hour, Dwalin making sure Kíli didn't push too far, but leading him carefully on so he pushed enough to rebuild muscle and flexibility.

By the time they went to breakfast, Kíli's arm felt limp and useless. Dwalin didn't look any different to his eyes, so he tried not to bring attention to it, sure there must be something wrong with himself. He apparently didn't fool anyone other than Dwalin, because as soon as they entered the feasting hall his Da started cutting up a plate of sausages and eggs into bite sized chunks for him. Thorin pulled out a chair for him, then gently massaged his arm before letting him eat.

"For all he's the child of your blood, he isn't you, Dwalin," the king chided.

"Óin said an hour," Dwalin answered, bewildered.

"The last thing you do for any exercise is a cool down," Thorin pointed out. He looked down at where Kíli had relaxed bonelessly into his touch. "You have to make the muscles relax again when you're done using them."  
"Don't yell, uncle," Kíli murmured, and both Thorin and Bifur chuckled.

"You're to rest today," Thorin instructed. "I won't have you overworking yourself so soon."

"I won't," Kíli protested, still curled against his uncle's side.

"You would," Thorin corrected, voice warm with affection. He looked down at his unmoving nephew, then up at Bifur. At a nod, he speared a slice of sausage on his fork and held it out. One of Kíli's eyes cracked open and he opened his mouth like a baby bird. Thorin huffed a laugh and fed him.

It seemed like everyone was aware of how recently the cast had been removed. Likely, Kíli considered, they really were. Ori had been right in pointing out that he was a prince and the dragon slayer. Everyone was aware of him, and he did his best to know them in return. But it did mean that Thorin didn't have to make any announcements that Kíli was to rest.

He was allowed to teach Khuzdul with his Da, and sit with any impromptu class he wanted. He was even allowed to hold some of the smaller children, if he could do it safely with one arm and someone else handed the child to him. And the children, pleased to be given a responsibility, were the best watchdogs Dori could have set on him. Other than the hour of exercise with Dwalin in the morning, he was never in any danger of overtaxing his arm.

Óin checked up on them once a week, letting them know what they were allowed to do and tell them if they were one schedule to be back to strength in a month. The first week, Óin pulled Kíli aside and praised him.

"You are healing well. And you are doing well holding him back so he doesn't try for too much too soon. Good job, lad."

Kíli smiled and refused to tell Dwalin what Óin had wanted to talk to him about.

As the weeks passed, Erebor grew more crowded and more bright. Individuals and families trickled in fairly steadily from the east and south despite the snow and cold. They presented themselves before the royal family to swear fealty, then were sent to Balin to give their names, ages, and family information for the records.

The influx meant that they were going to have to send to Laketown and Mirkwood for food. A messenger was chosen and messages written. They decided they could wait a bit longer before sending the messenger and took final inventory to make the best requests and send the right amount of money.

The same day, Kíli was given permission to begin training with his bow again. He ran to it instantly, running his hands lovingly the length of it before looking it over carefully for any possible damage or neglect from the months he was recovering. Finding none, he shrugged his quiver over his shoulder and headed to the practice room where Bifur and Fíli had set up targets for him.

He gained a following as he walked, twenty Dwarves his age and younger falling in.

"Is that the bow you used to shoot the dragon?" asked An, one of the younger ones who was a dedicated Khuzdul student.

Kíli smiled down at him, pleased to see the shadow of an answering smile on the child who had only recently started to share his emotions. "It is."

"What kind of weapon is a bow for a Dwarf?" demanded another, whose name Kíli couldn't dredge up instantly. "You never get close enough for the joy of battle!"

Kíli turned on his heel. "You think I felt no triumph when a giant beast fell from the sky because of my shot?" he asked, brows raised. "That I felt no joy killing the enemies of Erebor in the battle that came after?"

There was some shuffling of feet, and An glared at the older boy, but he wasn't deterred. "Show me, if you're really that good."

With a sigh, Kíli took an arrow from his quiver. Of course they would question him the first chance he had to practice in months. And unlike the usual spring slump (and here it was, still in winter - he still hadn't gotten over his amazement at the space in the mountain), this time he wasn't sure how much his arm would support the bow through the pull. He had wanted to stretch and practice without arrows first.

But it was a challenge, and he knew that as prince, as dragon slayer, as part of the company to brave the dragon he had to answer. He banished all doubts as he rested the arrow on the string. He made himself ignore the slight wavering in his arm as he raised the bow. He thought of his fathers flanking him, as they had when he had shot at Smaug, as he pulled back the string. He took aim, narrowing his focus to the target and himself.

His arm jerked as he released, and the arrow missed the bullseye. It was still in the target, and there were murmurs of awe from behind him. He turned and held the bow out to the boy who had questioned him, challenge clear. Face red, the boy tried to shoot, obviously mimicking Kíli's stance.

"I think you need some practice," Kíli said when the shot went wide. He raised a brow, letting the question dangle.

"Nithi, son of Fith," came the muttered reply.

Kíli showed him what to do, then demonstrated for the other boys and girls, and by the end of two hours even little An had had a chance to try. Even Nithi was encouraged to try again, and Kíli was sure he had the beginnings of an archery unit.

"We need a bowyer," he said at lunch. "I can do the fletching myself, but I've never made a bow."

Thorin gave no sign of hearing, but the delivery of food from Mirkwood also came with a load of wood treated and ready to turn into bows. There was also a letter from Legolas, that Ori read to Kíli.

_When my father is fully healed, I will come myself to make sure you aren't teaching bad habits._

Kíli laughed, tucking the letter into a pocket. It came with the bow he had used in Mirkwood, and even the single additional bow allowed his training archers to advance. An old warrior who had learned to make and use any weapon was soon found among the immigrants, Bifur and Fíli made them more targets, and training took off.

Dwalin was training whoever came with swords, axes, and hand to hand combat in another practice room. Fíli was often with him, relearning everything he had known now that his depth perception was all but gone. Kíli had never learned any of those skills before. He had only used an axe to chop wood, and any hand to hand they had done on the journey had been a product of desperation. He joined them when he could, building his strength and coordination.

Evenings were his times with family and friends. He would relax in the royal quarters, leaning against his Da and piping songs while the company chatted over everything going on. He learned about diplomacy and record keeping from Balin, the state of the workshops and forges from Glóin, the slow exploration of the mines from Bofur.

It was the evenings he loved best. He enjoyed his archers. He appreciated his students and teachers. He was warmed by the acceptance he got from all the Dwarves of Erebor. But it was the flush of family at night that made him content. Sometimes it was like traveling again, like the best parts of it: everyone together and laughing, full of good food and drink, warmed by a roaring fire.

And then they started their first spring in Erebor, aware that the work of restoration had really only just begun.


	25. Comes the Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I which Kíli meets his mother.

Farmers from Laketown had moved north to Dale before the snow melted. When the Dwarves ventured out of Erebor at the beginning of spring it was to the sight of freshly tilled fields and wooden shacks to the south. They marveled, and then Thorin sent Fíli to find the leader of the Men and offer them the use of any stones they wished to extract from the rubble piles. The Dwarves had no need of them anymore, but it was all still useable stone.

Fíli returned with word that the leader was Bard, descendant of Girion, who sent his humble thanks and offered to set up trade for food as soon as the fields started producing. Thorin brightened at the prospect of rekindling old ties and sent Balin down to assess the needs of the Men reclaiming Dale.

As the fields turned green, the Dwarves ranged every inch of the outside of the mountain. They inspected fissures, discovered several other back doors, and examined air intakes. These were made to be large enough for a Dwarf to enter, but many of them were more than half collapsed.

The piles of rubble by the main south gates were well enriched by the clearing of the intakes. Tinkers climbed in, examining the mechanisms for the intake fans and finding them dusty and rusted, but easily repairable.

Inside the mountain, they sent the young and agile up the heating vents that brought hot air from the forges up to warm open spaces like the parks and marketplaces. Nori was the first to climb into one, followed by several others of the dragon generation. Dori tried to keep Ori out, but the youngest brother laughed and lifted himself easily into a vent. Fíli wanted to go as well, but everyone stopped him, and they were so busy that they missed Kíli climbing up into one with An and Nithi following to be his messengers.

Each explorer had several youngsters following. They had to let everyone know about fractures in the rock and slides of rubble that had collapsed passageways. The assistants helped relay stones down safely, where they were loaded into carts and brought out of the mountain.

While that went on, masons and architects peered at the gates, planning how they would restore them from functional to their former glory. Many residential areas still needed work. And the task Nori started, dividing the Man made goods out of the treasure, was undertaken by a number of those better versed in gold and craftsmanship.

It all seemed to be happening so quickly. Kíli knew that what they had was nowhere near the glory of Erebor at its finest, but the speed of the recovery was astonishing everyone.

He was at the practice range when the shout came from the lookout. Everyone raced to the gates to stare out at the horizon at the line of caravan coming.

"It's Ered Luin!" Fíli cried joyfully. "See the banners?"

"How long do you think it will take them to get here?" Thorin asked, enthusiasm spreading.

The lookout took a moment to figure it out. "By noon tomorrow, I think."

"I'm going out to meet them!" Fíli decided. He turned to Thorin, cutting off response. "I'll borrow a pony in Dale and be with them mid afternoon." He spun to go and caught sight of his brother. "Kíli?"

"I'll wait," Kíli stuttered.

Fíli seemed to understand his brother's nervousness and ran off with a whoop.

Fíli's glee rubbed off on the rest of the Dwarves. They spent the day scrubbing and polishing and making preparations for a welcoming feast. Kíli threw himself into the preparations, ensuring that he was exhausted when it came time for bed. He climbed into bed with his Da and fell asleep instantly, leaving all worries for the morrow.

In the morning, he bathed thoroughly and then dressed carefully in the best of what Thorin had had made for him. They were a quality he was unused to. His shirt was fine, white linen, smooth and soft against his skin. The tunic he put on over it was heavy, thick wool. It was dyed blue with the patterns worked into the collar, cuffs, and sleeves intricately picked out in deep purple thread. The trousers were dark and warm, plain since they were more than half hidden under the knee length tunic. He'd even gotten new boots to replace the ones he'd been wearing for ten winters, although he insisted they be soft leather good for hunting rather than thick and stiff for under the mountain.

He stepped back to look at himself in the glass, not quite recognizing himself in all the fine clothes. His Da was behind him, smiling gently. When Kíli turned, eyes wide in panic, Bifur stepped forward and put the dragon scale pendant around his neck. The shimmering red and silver stood out against the blue of his tunic.

Bifur pushed Kíli into a seat so he could brush and braid his son's hair. Within moments of starting, Kíli's eyes closed and he leaned into the touch. Bifur smiled, feeling Kíli lose the tense set to his limbs and relax catlike into the familiar rhythm of hand and brush.

"Will she like me, Da?"

Bifur snorted, tugging at one of the braids to let him know his hair was done. Kíli opened his eyes, looking up with hope and fear.

"I know they gave me up because they loved me, but it's different now. Will she like me? Will she be proud of my bow and my leather? I'm not a prince like Fíli is. Will she think I'm good enough?"

"Tâpelig zu," Bifur said fondly.

"I'm not being foolish!" Kíli protested.

Bifur rested a hand on his head. "Zu hun zâyu." _She will love you_ , he repeated in iglishmêk when Kíli shook his head. _No one can help themselves._ That finally got a smile, and Kíli let Bifur lead him to the gates to watch for the new influx of Dwarves.

The caravan from the Blue Mountains broke up as it reached Erebor. The only ritual to go through was a welcome from the King Under the Mountain, and that was quickly taken care of, cheers coming from both those who had wintered in the mountain and newcomers. The mountain was empty as everyone wanted to look for family that had long been separated. Kíli saw a tiny Glóin run by and climb up her father, followed by what had to be Glóin's wife and eldest.

Dís received a warm welcome. Fíli had stood through the greeting with shining eyes and an arm around her. Thorin almost leaped from his dais to hug her tightly, and Dwalin lifted her right off the ground and spun her in a circle. Kíli held back bashfully, watching and wanting to join them.

It took her a long moment to notice him, and when she did the color drained from her face. "Kí--" she started before covering her mouth and looking around nervously.

His shy smile faded. "Ma?"

Tears filled her eyes, and when Dwalin gave her a push she stumbled forward. Kíli caught her, and she held him tightly while she cried, repeating his name over and over. His eyes teared as well, and he buried his face in her shoulder, learning the sound and feel and scent of her.

When she pulled back to look at him, her cheeks were wet. Kíli reached out hesitantly to wipe her tears away, and she laughed and took his face in her hands.

"Skhatten," she said, voice hoarse and shaking. "My treasure. I never thought to see you here."

He didn't have to ask if she was glad to. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. Eyes dropping shut, he whispered "Ma." He'd never gotten to say it before, and found that he wanted to repeat it.

A pair of arms wrapped around the both of them, then another and another. Kíli looked up to find Fíli, Dwalin, and Thorin had joined the embrace. Bifur was watching from a distance, a smile on his face. He caught sight of Kíli looking at him and walked away, and Kíli new that he understood that this was a time for this family but that Kíli would be home later.

"He's a son to be proud of," Dwalin said from behind Dís, and she scoffed, not taking her eyes off Kíli.

"Of course he is," she said as though there could be no doubts. And she smiled at him, a smile he knew what it felt like to give.

After that they were content to hold one another in silence. They were left to themselves and drew comfort from the strength they shared as a group. If, when they finally separated, all eyes were a touch damp, no one commented on it. Indeed, anyone looking their way had an approving smile.


	26. And Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything becomes normal, and thus the plot is finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I was in denial that it was the last chapter. Sadly, it is.
> 
> Don't fret, though! I still have a whole lot of prompts for the sides! And I'm always open to more prompts. Seriously, if there's anything you want more about, let me know. Back stories, "what was so-and-so doing at X point in the story?", things about the future (and I do have one or two ideas there already), relationships between character, anything and everything.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Enjoy the chapter.

When they finally turned to the task at hand, they were subject to the gently smiling attention of a single Hobbit among Dwarves.

"Bilbo!" Thorin exclaimed, eyes lighting with joy. "You returned."

"I told you I would," the Hobbit said, stepping closer and reaching out a hand.

Thorin took it between both of his. "You left before we'd entered the mountain. I wasn't sure how much was memory and how much was fever dreams."

"I came," Bilbo said with the same gentle smile. "And I brought things." He waved at a pair of carts piled high. "Your gold goes a long way in the Shire. I'll be able to make an entire side of your mountain bloom."

"And as I told you in the way here," Dís said, arms still around Kíli, "Dwarves are not farmers."

"Then I will have to bring Hobbits next year. Tooks and Brandybucks would be ready for the trip, and not bad at light gardening."

Kíli didn't want to break the embrace, but he reached for the bridle of the nearer pony to help lead the wagons of goods into the mountain. He paused to stare, and then he did break away, throwing his arms around the pony's neck.

"Blackberry!" he exclaimed and was lightly butted in the chest as the pony nickered at him. He had hoped, after the Orcs came, that they were safe and not Warg food. And here he was, being rewarded! He heard Fíli laugh behind him, but he didn't care.

"Hush," Dís admonished. "You did the same yesterday, and then insisted on riding the pony you claimed as yours. Made us stop and unhitch him from the wagon he was leading and lost us time. We could have been here an hour ago."

Kíli looked up and laughed at the embarrassment on Fíli's face, then turned to lead the wagons up the path to the main gates with an arm around Blackberry's neck. Dís fell in next to him, taking his free hand tightly in her own. He smiled sideways at her and whispered "Ma" again, getting used to the sound of it.

He felt her looking around as they entered the first causeway that was under rock. Trying to see it with new eyes, he looked around himself. Seeing familiar faces, he stilled and then started into restless motion. Fíli followed his gaze and took charge of Blackberry without comment.

Dís looked over in concern but followed easily when Kíli led her.

"Ma, this is Bifur," he said, looking quickly to see that the other Dwarf understood.

"I remember," Dís said with a smile. "You--"

He cut her off, voice overriding hers. "Da, this is Dís of the line of Durin."

He was looking at her, and that was the only reason he saw her initial reaction. The princess masked her initial possessive anger quickly. "Well met, Master Bifur," she said after taking another moment to master her voice. "You have an excellent son."

Bifur bowed low. "Mahila," he greeted. _Your son is dutiful and caring. It has been an honor to raise him._

When she looked over, Kíli silently begged her to be as understanding as the rest of the family had already proven. She met his eyes for a moment before softening. "Yes, Master Bifur. Our son has a large heart. You will have to help me learn more of him."

Bifur bowed again as joy bloomed on Kíli's face. _At your pleasure, my lady._

Kíli's fingers tightened around Dís' and he pulled her close for a hard hug. After a moment he turned, grinning, to press his head to his Da's. With promises to meet him for dinner, he went back to showing Erebor to his mother.

Bilbo brought cloth of all kinds that was spread among the people of Erebor: enough for clothes, blankets, towels, curtains, mattresses and anything they could think of putting it to. He also brought housewares: soaps, dishes in clay and wood, books, toys for children. And he brought fertilizer, seeds, and small plants. These last drew the most comment from Dwarves, especially after he started working at the northwestern side of the mountain, just outside the secret door.

Fíli and Kíli snuck out one afternoon to watch him. The Hobbit was struggling in the rocky soil of the sheltered valley between the arms of the mountain.

"Blast and bother these rocks," Bilbo muttered when he took a break, shirt sleeves pushed up and sweating. "If I don't get some help this area won't be ready for planting this year."

Fíli laughed and dropped from the rock they were sitting on to approach. "Well, Mister Baggins," he said with a grin to the startled Hobbit. "Here is Fíli--"

"And Kíli!" the younger added, scrambling down to join his brother.

"At your service."

They gave him identical cheeky smiles, and Bilbo thumped his shovel into Kíli's chest. Within the day, hundreds of others were helping with the hard work of moving stones and turning the soil. Where the princes went, the people followed. A week later, Bilbo showed the younger children how to plant saplings and bushes and sow the seeds of edible flowers and grasses.

The months passed in hard labor that they all relished. Each day, the mountain looked more like a home. It was clean, bursting with life and activity, and rebuilding and adorning were hard but welcomed tasks.

When the mines were finally reopened, it had been almost a year since they had taken Erebor back. In celebration, Thorin finally had his first at home audience with foreign dignitaries of all kinds. Men from Dale and some of the other kingdoms of Men were there. The sons of Elrond represented Rivendell, and Lothlórien and Mirkwood had sent emissaries. Dwarves from the White Mountains had come to repair relations and ambassadors from other Dwarf kingdoms had been sent to renew their own.

The Arkenstone had been polished to brilliancy and was back in the throne where it belonged, shining its light on all who came. Thorin sat under it, dressed regally and crowned in gold. It was a change from how he usually dressed, since he had spent most of the last year laboring with his people, and they loved him for it. He looked almost as uncomfortable in his finery as Kíli felt in his own, standing to the throne's left as the second heir - a thing that had taken him more than a month to come to terms with once it had finally been explained.

Only Fíli, standing to his uncle's right as befitted the crown prince, looked comfortable. His clothes were of a quality and cut that he was used to, despite the harshness of life in exile. He had been raised to be in the position he was in, and stood easy at his uncle's side, ready to offer compliment or challenge as needed.

As party after party paid their respects, the introductions and speeches ran on endlessly. Long winded diplomats spoke and translated and conveyed traditional greetings that sounded overwrought to Kíli's ears. He eventually tuned it all out, staring at the point at the back of the chamber where several of the children had climbed up onto the wall to see what all of the fuss was about. Dori would be after them later if he ever found out about it, Kíli thought, his lips curving into a small smile.

"Kíli?"

The young prince's attention cut back to the situation in front of him abruptly. His cheeks flamed at the thought that he'd been caught not paying attention, and then grew brighter when he realized all eyes were on him and the speakers had been cut off.

Legolas was looking up from the Mirkwood delegation. "Kíli, what are you doing up there?"

Kíli glanced over, expecting anger from Thorin. Fíli, on the other side of the throne was smothering a grin, and Thorin had a brow quirked in a way that Kíli had learned meant he was amused.

Taking that as permission to answer, Kíli looked back down at his friend and smiled through his blush. "It's a long story," he said. "I'll tell you later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> Mahila - my lady


End file.
